


Haunt Couture

by PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M, Haunted Castle, M/M, Possession, Reincarnation, Sports Medicine, crazy bullshit, for sparklycollectivedaze, its 3am i can't think of anymore tags it's so fucking cold here right now, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 01:12:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14989514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess/pseuds/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess
Summary: Strange circumstances have forced the mercenaries of RED to take a detour, on route to their next battlefield, finding them trapped in a haunted castle. When members of the team begin to act odd, and papers full of arcane scribblings are found, they realise things aren't quite what they seem...





	Haunt Couture

**Author's Note:**

> For sparklycollectivedaze of tumblr.

 

* * *

“You gotta be freaking kidding me!” Scout groans, jolted awake by the sudden stop, and not liking the world he’d woken to one bit. Glaring out the grimy windscreen, the runner had a clear view of the sign telling travellers the bridge up ahead had been washed out by flooding. 

 

“Not much we can do about it, mate.” Sniper comments, “Shit happens. You wait in the van, I’m gonna go talk to Engie and Medic, see how they feel about trying to get through… and don’t you go changing the bloody radio station to that pop nonsense again or you’ll be walking to the next battleground!”

 

Scout makes a great show of crossing his arms, rolling his eyes and sinking down in the seat with an angry huff; obnoxiously placing his cleated feet atop the dashboard. A sharp bang to the side of the vehicle, and the accompanying ‘ _ Oi, get your feet off the dash, you little gremlin! _ ’ nearly gives the runner a heart-attack… but he grumblingly complies.

 

The sharpshooter sure was taking his sweet time having a little pow-wow with the other drivers… it was driving Scout up the damn wall. His fingers itched to mess with the radio dial, sweat beading on the runner’s forehead as he tried to rein in the urge… the desire was almost overwhelming. In his defence, Scout had been trapped in the cramped passenger seat for what felt like an eternity and the impromptu nap hadn’t strengthened his resolve to not prank the driver; he wasn’t entirely sure the exact duration of the trip because he’d fallen asleep after the fourth hour of bland countryside, but the runner was relatively sure it’d been a while since they’d stopped.

 

Why couldn’t Engie just throw down a teleporter at each base or something? That’d make switching battlefield locations way easier for all of them… at least then it’d take minutes to travel somewhere new, and no one would have to put up with the agonies of long road trips. Scout would give a year’s paycheck for a chance to avoid accumulating the usual aches and pains of long drives; the crick in his neck was throbbing, his bladder full to bursting, and at this point he’s pretty sure his backside was still asleep. 

Speaking of taking a break to deal with important matters… Scout shoved the door open and tumbled out with all the grace of a newborn giraffe, noting in a glance that most of the other mercenaries were gathered together near Medic’s ambulance, holding an intense conversation. Which was excellent, ‘cause he had to go do something that didn’t need an audience, if you caught his drift. 

  
  


The terrain wasn’t great for privacy. In fact, it was lousy almost as far as the eye could see. Mostly patchy tufts of green grass sticking up in hardy patches, mottling the bare dirt landscape, and contrasting with the few random rocks poking up around the place; each a fun little distraction to trip over, for the unwary hiker, or those in too much of a hurry to pay attention. Scout felt the telltale cold pricks of raindrops beginning to fall from the brooding clouds above, and his need to go intensified tenfold at the mere thought of running water in any form. 

He hesitated momentarily, noting that there was a large patch of forest quite a distance away from the road; his mind already telling him it would probably be a close call, even if he ran for it… but he had to try. If Scout was lucky, and he almost never was but here’s hoping there’s a first time for everything... none of the others would notice he’d gone AWOL until he got back, relieved and perhaps a bit wet, given the way the rain seemed to be falling harder now.

 

Nope, don’t think about the rain, it only makes it worse.    
His legs were a bit stiff from the long ride, but after a few dozen feet, Scout managed to find a comfortable rhythm, and set off towards the treeline. Running through the rain, especially when no one was firing on you, was an exhilarating experience and second to none; the cool of the droplets meeting the heat of your skin, the way the chill winds snatched viciously at hair, clothing, flesh… truly amazing. 

 

It wasn’t until he was a stone’s throw from the woods when it really dawned on the runner just how big the trees were; sure from a distance they looked average, but up close, they towered over him. Okay, so he wasn’t the tallest Merc on the team, but just taking a guess at it, Scout would clearly have to stand on Heavy’s shoulders just to reach the lower boughs; the great trunks’ protruding limbs were thick as the runner’s thighs, and sagging from the great weight of many leaves. 

 

Still, he wasn’t here to admire the trees… just, you know, add to the water cycle a bit. Hope they didn’t mind a little  _ Bonk! _ , even if it was second-hand… the stuff had just a hint of radioactivity to it, but he’s pretty sure it won’t like, turn the trees sentient or something. Probably not. Besides, what were the odds of that happening  _ twice _ in one year?

Glancing left, right, and over his shoulder, the runner wandered in a few metres to dash behind a rather sturdy looking elm; unzipping quickly and taking his sweet time, as an urgent need was finally met. The relieved sigh shook birds from their treetop nests.

  
  


He snapped back to reality about three seconds after securing his zipper, suddenly noticing the surreal nature of the wood surrounding him, for the first time. Scout had been distracted when he entered, but thinking back on it… he’s pretty sure it wasn’t this dark, or cold, before; and… had he always been so far in? The light of outside, as dim as it may be from the sun-occluding storm clouds above, beckoned from quite a distance away. It was disconcerting really. 

 

“Alright, okay, definitely nothing magic or whatever, just gotta get out of here…” Scout told himself, facing straight towards what he assumed was the treeline and taking rapid strides to reach it. No matter how many things flitted through his peripheral vision, or brushed along his shoulders in a semi-menacing manner, Scout fought the urge to stop and look around. If you don’t acknowledge something spooky, it can’t do shit to you, after all. 

 

He was mere feet away from freedom, when something cold, clammy and very, very real, snatched ahold of his ankle. “Aw fuck…” he manages to mutter, as it yanks him to the ground, dragging the runner back into the darkness. His fingers leave furrowed gouges in the soft earth, and the headset snags on brush as Scout disappears through it, shouting things his Ma’d wash his mouth out for back home.

 

Loud voices, ranging from confused to concerned, call out his class name in every increasing volume; seemingly getting closer in response to their youngest member’s distress. Scout scrabbles for purchase on passing tree trunks, failing to gain or keep a proper hold under the steady unrelenting force of whatever had him; the runner trying to forestall panic, as he felt cold mud sliding up under his shirt and little pieces of the fabric tear away with every bush, nettle and rock.

How far was it taking him? And more importantly, what the hell was going to be on the other end of the… whatever-it-was that had an iron grip about his ankle? 

 

The questions whirled about his mind as the runner frantically glanced in every direction, seeking a means of escape or some kind of weapon he might free himself with. Nothing stood out, no protrusions to grip onto in stubborn refusal to be abducted… not a single fallen branch he could utilise as a weapon. Not to mention the further it dragged him from the light, the smaller his field of vision grew as darkness seemed to swallow him whole.

 

Without warning, the thing jerked suddenly to his right, and Scout’s vision exploded with light as his head collided heavily with a thick trunk. Everything blurred, spinning violently for a moment longer in this void of a place… and then, the runner’s form fell limp as consciousness fled. His fate uncertain, foreboding… but sealed.

 

~)0(~

 

Crashing through the brush, kukri out and slashing at the vines that seemed to block every step, Sniper chases after the weakening cries of the Scout. His eyes were everywhere, searching for signs of where the little bugger might have fallen down some unseen hole, or run across some sort of hungry lizard-tiger or who the hell knows what else kind of creature lives in a place like this.  Following behind at a steady pace, Medic, Heavy and Demo were also paying close attention to the surrounding fauna, for clues.

 

Heavy finds the long, deep furrows in the ground; hinting that whomsoever had been dragged from here, quite recently, had put up a fight and not been a willing participant. Drag marks intensified, swaying this way and that through the never-ending mess of trees; almost like the undulations of a snake… which was not exactly a comforting thought. 

 

“He was here, alright.” Sniper confirms what they all know, grabbing the headset from the forest floor and hoisting it up. Doesn’t look too bad, might need a clean but it’d still work; and there was a faint echo of bodywarmth to it, meaning it hadn’t been off the runner for too long. They’ve got to be close, by now.

 

Following the trail of shredded attire and hasty fingernail marks on trunk and soil alike, the quartet came across a rather ominous dark patch on the side of a rather large elm’s base; red, viscous, and filling the air with the tang of copper, there could be no mistaking it. Blood.    
It dribbled downwards in unhurried rivulets, drawing the eye to the sporadic smears and dribbles that seemed to curve away into the darkness beyond. At least there was a clear trail for the rescue party to follow, even if it did confirm the resident batter had run afoul of something unpleasant in this odd forest. 

  
  


A hand grabbed hold of Sniper’s shoulder, yanking him back a second before the earth before him fell away to reveal a spike trap. He clutches his chest, eyes wide in surprise.   
“Bloody hell… thanks Doc. If you hadn’t seen it I would’ve been a shish-kabob…” he sighs in relief, turning to face the physician. “How’d you spot it?” the sharpshooter asked, genuinely curious. 

 

Medic looks perplexed, as if he has no idea how or why his hand ended up stopping Sniper’s untimely death. “I… am not certain, it was just a feeling.” he frowns, pulling away to peer down into the pit. “Hmmm, judging by the degree of rust on those metal stakes, it would be safe to say whomsoever put it here has been dead quite some time. Ah, see here!” Medic points, “The bloodtrail moves around the pit, so whoever has the Scout knew this was here.”

 

“Perhaps we should walk on trail from now on.” Heavy suggests, logically. “Will most likely avoid all hidden traps, if there are more.”

 

“I’m with the big guy on this one, lads.” Demo chimes in, squinting into the gloom before them. He claps his hands, “Alright then, let’s get on with it, Scoot’s gone and gotten himself into danger and we probably shouldn’t stop for a chat just now.”

 

Sniper blinks in surprise, the past thirty seconds utterly erasing the greater context of the situation for him. “Oh, er, right, yeah. Let’s get going, no one step off the trail, or you might end up dead…” he advised, feeling them fall into single file behind as they began the search again. 

 

“Follow the red drip road…” he muttered to himself, carefully following the sharp turns and twists the drag marks had adopted ever since that first telltale spatter on the tree. Sniper was a tad concerned that they’d stopped seeing signs of the runner fighting to get free, no more clawmarks in the ground or on the trees, which wasn’t a good portent. Best case scenario whatever the thing was got tired of Scout’s sarcasm and constant wiggling, and did something about it; but, there was always the possibility that it was far worse than they could imagine…

  
  


Sniper freezes in place as a hand once again snags his shoulder, exhaling in relief as he realises it’s just Heavy trying to gain his attention this time, and not Medic with another close encounter of the almost-fatal kind. Was a bit odd of the Doc to suddenly spot a well-hidden pit trap before Sniper could, though; not to downplay Medic’s keen powers of observation, but outside of their main medical application… they tended to stay out of play. In fact, more than once Heavy had had to stop Medic from walking into something or someone, because he was lost in thought…

Speaking of the big guy, Heavy was squeezing his shoulder, trying to regain the sharpshooter’s wandering focus. “Can see something up ahead, where the trees are thinning, can you make it out with your scope?” Heavy asks, tilting his head in the direction as Sniper fumbled to pull a spare rifle scope from his pocket.

 

He snags a quick peek through it, nearly drops it and fumblingly shoves it back in his vest. “Bloody hell, it’s Scout… looks like someone punched his clock real hard, too. C’mon, let’s go get him… but keep an ear out, whatever did this can’t have just disappeared into thin air.” 

  
  


Medic easily outpaces Sniper as he makes for his patient, dropping down beside the runner in a halo of dust and reaching to find a pulse. Heavy moves to stand beside the doctor, a looming presence that protects as well as warns any watching not to try anything. Sniper and Demo stay back, keeping a lookout for anything suspect that might be lurking in the area; given the terrain, there was plenty of places something big, nasty and real hungry could be laying low. 

 

Scout was sprawled on his side, like a carelessly dropped ragdoll, in the middle of what was probably once a road. Rough, overtaken by weeds and time, the dirt road still had traces of the ruts that would have allowed many a carriage to pass through here in times gone by. 

“He is alive, at least…” Medic informs the gathered men, satisfied that the majority of the runner’s injuries were superficial, and easily healed. He gestures for Heavy to come forwards, and the larger man carefully picks the runner up, cradling the comparatively diminutive frame carefully; like one would a child. 

 

Medic adjusts Scout’s limbs, and takes the opportunity to inspect the rather gruesome looking headwound from a better angle. He probes the site, ignoring the twitches from his unconscious patient, and determines there may be nothing more than a hairline fracture and a rather dramatic amount of blood streaking the pallid face. Nothing the medigun cannot easily deal with when they get back to the others… 

He ansently patches the crimson mess with some some rather rumpled gauze and a several bandaids he had hiding in his coat pockets; mentally cursing himself for not checking whether Archimedes had stolen the rolls of bandages for nests again, before they left. There was always one near fatality before they made it to another battleground… he was normally quite prepared to face whatever may come, and it irked the physician no end that this time he was not. 

 

Scout’s visible trembling in Heavy’s arms, suddenly reminded everyone that they were effectively standing in the middle of an intensifying rainstorm in the middle of nowhere, in nothing more than basic attire. The runner was saturated, his clothes a mess of tears, mud and leaves; and Medic became aware that, although he had knelt down in dust… he was now quite caked in mud, especially around the knees. Had they been here long? Or was it merely that no one had noticed how dense the droplets had begun to fall before now?

 

Heavy, thick and fast they churned the ground beneath the mercenaries of RED Team to mud; puddles forming around their feet as the ground railed against absorbing any more moisture. Sniper was frowning upward, a stream of rainwater trickling off his slouch hat and down his back in quite a comical fashion, as he did so; trying to gauge whether things were going to get better or worse. 

Demoman, on the other hand, was carefully wiping mud off of Scout’s beloved headset with a sleeve, and sliding it on his head. Only to pull it of again in a hurry and fumble about for the volume switch as a very stressed-sounding Engineer came through at top volume, asking  _ just where in tarnation they thought they’d gotten off to _ . 

“Might want to calm down there a bit, Engie, we’re just on the other side of the woods.” Demo tells the other, speaking in the general direction of the microphone so as to avoid putting the headset back on. “There’s a real old road here, seems to be going somewhere, but it might be a bit too muddy to get the vehicles through…”

 

There’s a pause, then the Engineer says they’d best head back toward the vehicles, regroup and see where to go from there. Pyro can be heard in the background making delighted splashing noises, and Engie clearly has to abandon the truck’s radio as he goes to stop the firebug from getting too messy playing in the puddles. 

 

“Right, best be returning then, huh?” Demo suggests, looking at the others, who are all eyeing the woods with the same degree of hostile trepidation as the explosives expert. “Suppose the real question is exactly how we’re gonnae do that, considering we didn’t exactly leave a trail of breadcrumbs last time we ran through the bloody forest like headless chickens…”

 

“The trail’s probably gone by now, with all the rain, so we can’t backtrack… but we can probably try, not many other options.” Sniper says, shrugging and stalking back towards the treeline with a determined expression. Maybe there’d be faint imprints or some scraps of Scout’s shirt left on the underbrush? That’d be enough for his to at least find the right direction…

  
  


“Or you could all stop being idiots and come over here.” A snide, condescending tone advises, as Spy materialises seemingly out of thin air, his lit cigarette curling smoke between the raindrops. He languidly takes a drag on it, allowing the taste to curl on his tongue before exhaling, and simply waits for the others to process their shock at his sudden presence. Honestly, for people who knew they had a teammate with skills in espionage, assassination and unpredictability… they had a remarkably slow reaction time to him decloaking, off the battlefield. Though, Spy’s mouth quirks a little at the corners at the thought, he did quite enjoy making Scout shriek when he appeared without warning in bizarre places. 

 

“Spook! Where the bloody hell did you come from?” Sniper exclaims, turning to face the newcomer in surprise. “Didn’t think you’d come looking for him, what with all the mud and rain out here…” he taunts, slightly gratified to see something twitch under the espionage agent’s eye. The team did like to goad the pompous French bastard on occasion, especially when it came to certain things, like his refusal to do anything that might ruin his suit… or the way he was indirectly parenting the son who hadn’t worked out their connection yet. 

 

Speaking of Scout, the group watching dispassionate blue eyes flicker to the wet bundle Heavy was holding. “Is the brat alive?” the tone betrayed no connection, but the others knew quite well that Spy was worried enough, if he had to ask. 

 

Medic openly smirked. “Indeed, Herr Spy… it merely looks more dramatic than it is. Scout will be well enough if we can just get to the others in time, he might have a lingering concussion, but… nothing serious. And… which way might that be, since you have suggested that is something you know?” he challenges. 

 

Flicking the half-spent cigarette into a nearby puddle and turning on his expensive leather-clad heel before it had even fizzled out, Spy began to lead them down the strange old road without a word. Not once complaining about the mud that sucked at his shoes, or the rain soaking through his expensive suit and attire, entrusting that the others would follow him.

And indeed they did, though several times the rain sheeted down hard enough to obscure the Spy’s form, and he was forced to wait for them to catch up once more. His impatience blusteringly hidden beneath annoyed statements that his clothes were ‘ruined beyond repair’, and definitely not because he was worried at how pale Scout seemed to be under the icy onslaught from above.

 

It seemed to take an eternity, though perhaps that had more to do with how little the scenery changed, which gave the nightmarish impression of never truly getting anywhere despite all the expended effort. Suddenly, Spy turned sharply toward the treeline to their right, and waited just long enough to ensure the others were directly behind as he forged onwards; the party trudged no more than twenty feet or so, before breaking free out the other side, and found themselves staring across the patchy field at the trucks.

 

“THERE YOU ARE!” Engie shouts over at them, volume echoing across the empty expanse between them. The Texan furiously gestures them over, “MIGHT WANNA HURRY, LOOKS LIKE HAIL’S A-COMING!”

 

Sure enough, there’s an angry green tinge to the clouds sweeping overhead, and the small band quickens their pace despite the cold, wet, and exhausted muscles begging them to sit down and rest, just for a moment or two. The ground between them and their goal diminishes in moments, and finally, they reach the other members of RED; one of which airblasts them dry with their beloved (and aptly named)  _ Rainblower _ .  

 

“I’d ask what the hell happened out there, but it’s probably for the best we find somewhere to park the vehicles before that hail hits us…” Engie advises, as Medic hastily flings open the back of his ambulance, coos at the unsettled doves roosting throughout the compartment, and advises Heavy to dump the runner atop the only gurney in there. Heavy takes the keys, and heads towards the drivers cabin. Watching on, Engie adds, “I was thinkin’ we might try up the road you just came from, has to be something up there… ‘cause there’s nothing behind us for miles and the only way forwards is through floodwater that I’m not willing to chance without a nearby Respawn available.”

 

“A reasonable plan.” Spy uncharacteristically agrees, producing another cigarette from who-knows-where upon his person, and lighting it. If anyone else notices the slight tremble to the espionage agent’s hands, they either chalk it up to the cold, or decide not to bring it up. “Though one might point out that there is clearly something in these woods that is not happy for us to be here…”

 

“We’ll deal with that when we come to it, Spah…” Engie reassured, clapping the man on the shoulder in friendly manner. “Can’t ambush us twice and all, now we know about it. Alright, everyone’s gonna have to shuffle around a tad, Sniper can you take Demo and Py with you this time? That’ll put Spy with Heavy and Medic, and leave me free to follow behind in the truck, ready in case any of y’all get bogged.”

 

No one raised a fuss, and the mercenaries easily disseminated to the various vehicles, the Ambulance taking the lead as Spy guided Heavy towards the hidden entrance of the road several metres down from where they’d cut through the trees. If the Heavy weapons expert noticed how Spy would sometimes press his head back against the wall to feel the slight vibrant hum of a working medigun, and sigh in a quietly relieved way… he said nothing. 

But perhaps, the Russian smiled a tad too knowingly for the Spy’s liking…

 

~)0(~

 

Elaborate, even in a state of such decay, the stone monument to wealth of bygone ages rose from the ground and towered above all the surrounding trees; like a foreboding beacon of sanctuary against the storm. The castle sprawled out into long-abandoned gardens, the plants’ descendants twining about the grounds and stonework; all confined within rusty metal walls that surrounded the perimeter. 

 

Gaining entrance was a simple enough matter, the hinges of the imposing metal entrance were as rusted as the gates themselves, from what had clearly been decades of disuse. All it took was a little ‘gentle persuasion’ from the Heavy, and they keeled over with a tired metallic shriek of protest; allowing the mercenaries entrance to the strange place. 

They all felt as if this was a little strange, a little too convenient; that things just so happened to go very wrong as they passed, something in the woods takes out one of the mercenaries, and fortuitously they find a long-abandoned castle in good enough condition to house them for the night. Sure, bizarre and unholy occurrences came standard in this line of work, but this… this did send disconcerting chill up many a spine. 

 

Parking out the front, the mercenaries divided into groups. Demo and Pyro heading up the main stairs to see if they could get inside, and whether the building was sturdy enough to survive them all for a night. Heavy guarding the Ambulance and other vehicles out the front, with Medic and Scout within; and Spy sending a coded message through some complex method, to advise the Administrator of the delay.

Engineer and Sniper did a quick sweep around the castle, finding the outbuilding where the carriages had clearly been stored; and delighted in finding it wide enough to accomodate all three vehicles. Whomsoever had occupied this house had been quite wealthy, and obviously used to having many guests visiting; or else why go to the expense of such an extravagantly large shelter for carriages? Not to mention, the horse stables were bigger than the average american household…

 

Rain grew thicker with every passing minute, and the urgency of getting inside started to impress upon the mercenaries. Demoman announced they’d found their way in through the big main doors easy enough, and they hadn’t found much but dusty furniture inside; as the foremost expert on castles in the group, Tavish was the one who had to have the final say on whether the place was safe. Thankfully, he eventually called out that the stonework was sturdy enough to outlast all of them, so they might as well come inside…

  
  


Sniper, Heavy and Engineer ferried bags, swags and other important items up to the front door, where Pyro and Demo would take it inside and set it down in the sitting room they’d found. It was small, dry and had a fireplace that looked to be in relatively good condition.

When anything they could think to need for an overnight stay was inside, Heavy knocked twice on the Ambulance doors; Medic swung them open to pass over the runner, who was looking less like death than before, and grab a few armfuls of his things. The doves piled on all three, as they made their way inside; it was quite an interesting sight. 

 

Still, by the time each of the vehicles were stowed away in the carriage house and the mercenaries who had parked them found themselves sprinting through the front doors, they were grateful to miss being pummelled by golfball sized hailstones by a margin of mere seconds. The hollow clanking echoed, even when the doors were swung shut, tight against the vengeful weather event happening outside. 

Scout stirred briefly in Heavy’s arms, eyes flickering open for just a split-second as he whispered, “Nnng… oh good, we’re home…” before turning his face into the larger mercenary’s chest and settling again. More than a few of the others threw pointedly confused, concerned and downright perturbed looks at the runner; then, at Medic, to see if he could explain the situation.

 

Medic waves off their concerns. “Not to worry, that’s the concussion talking… now we all need to go and change into something dry, or I will be treating everyone for pneumonia by morning.”He pauses, visibly considering something the rest probably want nothing to do with. “Actually, I do have a new medication I wish to test the efficacy of… I have changed my mind, take your time changing…”

 

He didn’t even get to finish the sentence before the mercenaries were bustling off to the little sitting room, frantically digging through their bags for towels and dry clothes. No one wanted to play guinea pig again, not after the feathery tentacle incident…

Medic let out a hooting laugh, wiped a stray tear of mirth from his eye, and followed after; beaming at a prank well played. Time to find something warmer to wear, and check how the Scout was faring… 

 

~)0(~

 

By the time the others had changed clothes, there was a roaring fire inexplicably burning in the fireplace grate, Spy was resting in a plush chair smoking, and Scout seemed to have been cleaned up, changed and wrapped in one of the blankets. No one said anything to the man who was attempting to look as nonchalant as possible, but Engineer and Heavy shared some knowing grins over the espionage agent’s head.

Wet attire was hung over impromptu clotheslines, tied between pillars in the entryway; it sure wasn’t the classiest solution, but it meant they could at least drip-dry to an extent. Pyro was eagerly blasting shirts, shoes, belts and undergarments with the Rainblower; generally shooting them in all directions, more than drying them off. Still, as long as it kept them occupied  and vaguely useful, no one was going to bother them.

 

Engie had gone ahead and put down a Sentry in the main foyer area, just in case whatever in the seven hells had attacked Scout decided to come in for a visit sometime overnight. The reassuring beep of a level three safeguard watching their back seemed to put everyone at ease; enough for more than a few to start looking over their supplies and thinking about dinner. 

Sniper’s offer to go get something from the forest for a roast was turned down, no one wanted two casualties in this strange place; so the sharpshooter settled for exploring the castle top to bottom with Demo. They took off for a good half hour, exploring up the main stairs and disappearing from view; though not exactly from earshot, as their voices reverberated loudly. Heavy was sent after them, with Pyro trailing, when a series of bizarre crashes and shouts were heard; the mountain of a mercenary stalking up the stairs wearing a warface so utterly at odds with the little firebug who was holding one of his giant hands and skipping. 

 

Spy was arguing with Engineer by the fire, generally over what exactly dinner would entail, as they both had vastly differing ideas. Supplies were somewhat limited; sure, they always packed more than what they needed when travelling between maps, but it wasn’t exactly gourmet. At least with Sniper’s van in the convoy, they had access to a small fridge, freezer, cupboard and a kettle; just on the off-chance they had to stop somewhere it was too wet, barren or dangerous to light a campfire. 

The pair bickered until Medic told them both to shut it, or he would shove it. How exactly one would ‘shove’ a metaphorical dispute, neither mercenary was entirely sure… but knowing Medic,  _ he’d find a way _ . Swiftly agreeing to disagree, Engie left to go ask Sniper whether he had any of the spices Spy wanted on the meat… and Spy cloaked himself, disappearing to who-knows-where. 

 

_ Probably off to see what the others were up to _ , Medic muses, heaving a tired sigh now that the rest of the team had finally taken their own particularly noisy brand of chaos elsewhere. He turned to the ornate couch-like creation Scout was resting upon, pleased to see colour had returned to the runner’s features, and the medigun had successfully patched up the wound. It was about time to wake the younger mercenary, check that his cognitive functioning hadn’t been impaired in any way by the blow… and perhaps ask what exactly had caused it. 

 

Shooing several curious doves, including Archimedes, with a wave of his arm, Medic bent down to shake Scout’s shoulder. “Time to wake up, Scout. Come along, wakey-wakey…” he cajoled, an air of false positivity absolutely radiating off of the physician. At least the skin was flush and warm, but not feverish, which was an excellent sign. 

Scout mumbles, trying to wriggle out from under Medic’s hand, tucking more tightly into the warm confines of the covering blanket; it is so inherently youthful, childish and somewhat adorable, that it makes the doctor pause before shaking him again. Though, as comfortable as the runner was, as his primary medical provider it was imperative Medic make certain Scout’s mental faculties were in tip-top shape… so, he must, as ever, be the bad guy.

 

With a deft flick, he yanks the blanket off the runner, and exposes Scout to the cooler air of the room; sending shivers all through the scrawny form, as it frantically curled in on itself to conserve heat. Scout’s eyelids blinked open, closed, open again as he struggled to wake up in response to the sudden temperature change; covered in goosebumps, and semi-startled as reality flooded back, the runner shot upright. 

“NO-! Wait, what the hell? Where am…? Doc?” the words fought their way out in a jumbled mess as familiar blue eyes latched onto the first familiar form in the room. His hand reached up to touch the side of his head, expression confused as it came away clean…

 

“Welcome back, Herr Scout…” Medic says, fishing a small penlight out of a pocket and just about blinding the runner as he checked the slightly dilated pupils carefully. Not too far from normal, just enough to suggest that the runner should be monitored for the next few hours… the medigun could do many things, but banishing colds, flus and concussions were not on that particular list.  “We were hoping you could tell us what happened, actually… we found you on a road to the other side of that little forest, quite the worse for wear. We found this castle at the end of it, the others are looking around, but they are all alive and definitely still have their souls. In any case, are you feeling any pain, experiencing dizziness, nausea or hearing a faint ringing?”

 

“Uhhhhhh… what was that about our souls, Doc?” Scout backtracked, squeezing his eyes shut. “Ah, shit… y-yeah Doc, feeling pretty dizzy right now, but nothing hurts, and I can’t hear anything weird.”

 

“Good, good, that is normal when you have a minor concussion…” Medic mutters, thanking the gods under his feet that the Scout had forgotten his original query. Slip of the tongue to out that particular little secret. “And… what is the last thing you remember? Is there something we should be aware of, a creature or person of sorts, hmmm?”

 

“I, uh, I’m not… sure.” Scout frowns, like he’s trying to force the memories to come forth, with sheer willpower alone. “Don’t think I saw what grabbed me. Just, I went into the forest to take a piss without an audience, then… I dunno, something grabbed me before I could leave. Wrapped around my ankle, and just dragged me off my feet… couldn’t fight it or see anything, and then it kinda jerked and I think I hit a tree. There might have been someone there… I think I woke up, it was real cold and there was dirt under me, and someone just kept saying sorry, over and over, had a real soft touch so I knew it wasn’t one of you guys… then I was here. Don’t know, maybe I dreamed that last bit or whatever…?”

 

Medic considered the story and ultimately dismissed it as a dream. “So you don’t know what attacked you? Interesting… it would have to have a significant reach to drag you so far. Show me your ankle, we may yet find a clue if there are any markings.”

 

“ _ Oh Doc, you know ah just ain’t that type of girl… _ ” Scout twitters, in a terrible imitation of a southern belle, thus proving this whole experience hadn’t exactly traumatised him too much. To be fair, they died several times a day, but that was under known circumstances… supernatural bullshit tended to fall under Soldier’s jurisdiction; or even Demoman’s. Speaking of which… where exactly had Soldier gotten to?

 

Medic swatted the nearest knee to him, to silence the runner’s laughter; it earned him a louder gale, but at least Scout proffered his ankle for inspection. There was an angry reddish-purple welt winding from ankle to mid-shin; the skin broken and bleeding in some places from sheer force. It was a miracle that whatever had grabbed Scout hadn’t shattered the bone… though the socks he wore were incredibly thick, which may have insulated the runner from the worst of it. 

Swearing under his breath, Medic tilted the injured appendage this way and that, noting the strange spiral pattern, and he rough edges. Maybe a coarse rope? Or something made from roots? He could think of no other explanation, other than some sort of angry landbound octopus...

 

“I will put a salve on it to numb the area, so don’t go running around or you might break something, but… I will not heal it fully until the others have had a look. Perhaps Demo or Sniper may know of something that can inflict damage such as this.” he advises, rummaging through his medical bag for a jar of ointment, and carefully applying it to the area. He looks up to check Scout’s reaction, make certain the numbing agent is taking effect, and could swear for just a split-second there was something flashing around those sparkling blue irises. 

Medic blinks, taken aback… then the logical part of his mind points out it was probably just the reflection of the fire on his glasses, and he dismisses the situation as his own tiredness. Though it seems to bury itself into the depths of his mind, a little seed taking root… that something is not right here. 

 

He opens his mouth to ask the Scout something, but all of a sudden there is an icy sensation gusting through the room; the fire dies in a heartbeat, Scout cries out, and Medic cannot even formulate words with which to ask what has happened. For something has struck him, a blow from behind like the piercing sensation of the BLU Spy’s dagger between his vertebrae. 

 

Sound chokes off in his throat, and the floor rushes up to meet the Medic. He can barely cling to consciousness as he feels a warm weight land atop him, chillingly slack and lifeless. Their soft breathing fills his ears as the physician drifts into darkness, uncertain as to whom or what had assailed them… but knowing he cannot call out to warn the others in time.

 

~)0(~

 

“ _ Mon dieu _ !” Spy exclaims, seeing the twisted heap of flesh and metal marring the second floor hallway and immediately regretting ever signing onto a team with this many incompetent fools. He rests his head in a gloved hand, and sighs. “And how, pray tell, did you manage this mess? Heavy, were you not supposed to babysit them, not join in their nonsense?” he admonishes.

 

Not even bothering to look chagrined, Heavy grins and shifts his bulk from beneath the fallen sets of armour, weaponry and what appeared to be several tapestries. Whatever had happened up here seemed to have simply snowballed into an almost impossibly ridiculous situation, bordering on the ludicrous. 

Gasping fresh air for the first time since it all began, Sniper and Demoman were finally freed from beneath Heavy. Under Spy’s impassive, though amused, gaze… the pair shakily got to their knees, feeling every bone and joint they possessed popping, cracking and generally protesting the mistreatment. Eyes taking in the entropy of the scene in full, for a moment.

 

Heavy tries to explain, but Spy holds up a hand to forestall him. “Non, I have decided I no longer wish to know… come, we must make certain that this place is unoccupied, and we identify all of the entrances and exits. Now, what have you found so far?”

 

“Uh, this corridor seems to be guest bedrooms, and there’s a bathroom of a sort over there, yeah that door.” Sniper points as he talks, the group turning to head the other direction down the corridor. “Along here there’s a bunch of rooms, think one’s a study, and there’s the library in there, not sure what this is… nursery maybe? And that thing door down there is another bedroom, got a dunny, clawfooted bathtub and everything. Couple of closets around, full of really old sheets and such, fall to pieces if you touch ‘em. Whoever lived here didn’t leave because they wanted to… everything seems to say they left in a hurry, or they didn’t get a chance to.”

 

“...for once, I agree with you, bushman.” Spy agrees, well-trained eyes darting in all directions, mentally mapping the facility. His fingers dance along a section of the wall and press in a panel, which pops open to reveal a tunnel leading upward, rickety stairs were visible. “I do believe we have uncovered the manner in which we might access the roof and ramparts… though it would not surprise me if there were branching tunnels hidden throughout the castle for servants, so they might go unseen by the masters and their guests.” 

 

Heavy was looking at the portraits that lined the walls, each one depicting one of a handful of people in them; ancestors of the family who had lived here, and what appeared to be some of the heirs themselves. All tall and slender in that odd way the aristocracy seemed to have written in their genetic code; the forms of people who could afford to never work a day in their lives, and dedicate wealth to flattering attire. 

One in particular caught the Russian’s eye; he had not had to put his art degree to use in many years, but he could still discern great details about paintings if he had the chance to look at them. The gentleman, raven-haired and beaming; what appeared to be his young wife, or perhaps daughter, smiling blandly as his arm wrapped around hers. Her eyes seemed to be saying something that her smile did not; perhaps the painter had not captured the moment correctly… or maybe he had, and not seen the cry for help in them.

Compared to the other portraits of the family, for there were a few older ones that showed a small child in several of them, the one that held Heavy’s interest was definitely the most fascinating. In each frame save this, they seemed genuinely happy, content… but something had changed in the last…

 

Though, this was all mere speculation, and it had been quite some time since he had critiqued anything like this, Heavy supposes he could be well off-topic. Until Demo says, “There’s something about the lass’s eyes, isn’t there? Like she wants to say something, but she can’t…”

 

Heavy blinks. “Yes, was just thinking that. They seem happy, up until this picture, where she her face is…” he searches for an appropriate word, but settles for, “like mask being worn, completely wrong.” 

 

“Wonder who they were…” Demo answers, voice pensive, studious brown eye scanning the portrait for clues. “Bit weird for a place like this to be in such disarray, especially since they had a wee little laddie. Heirs don’t usually up and leave a castle to its own devices… they live in it, or sell it to the highest bidder and buy a nice mansion somewhere closer to civilisation. This… doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

 

“If you two are quite done playing art critic, we are intending to check the library.” Spy’s voice intones, breaking into their conversation with all the subtlety of a thunderclap at a dog show. They whirled around to see the masked man stride away, entering the library with Sniper trailing after… and that was when Heavy suddenly remembered he had not come up stairs alone.

 

“Pyro? Where is little firebug gone?” he calls, glancing back up the other end of the hallway corridor, before he heard a familiar ‘mmmph!’ emanating from the study. The mountain of a man made a beeline for the slightly ajar study door, and stepped inside to reveal the pyromaniac blowing stacks of dusty old papers into the air with the Rainblower. Heavy coughs, the dust so thick he feels it coat his tongue like a physical thing, and waves a hand to ward it off. Demo moves through the chaos easily, as only one who has experience with ancient things can, and shoves open a window to let some fresh air into the musty room. Raindrops spatter on the sill, but not much can be done about it, as the frigid wind gusts through and scatters the dust particles to all four corners of the earth; finally allowing the non-mask-wearing occupants a chance to breathe deeply.

 

Rifling through the pile of papers, Heavy finds more than a few are written in various dialects, many of which he can make out; including letter, invitations and notes in german, french and english. The Count Jacques du Monmach, and his wife, the Countess Seraphina, had lived in this household with a full staff for what appeared to be quite a significant amount of time. 

Invoices and staff ledgers informed the wide diversity of servants, from kitchen maids through to gardening architects and more, who had worked here. Some singed blueprints of the castle were dredged up from beneath the rest of the papers, but most was illegible; at the very least it seemed to indicate that there was a kitchen and servant quarters below the main level. A few correspondence letters with frivolous happenings were exchanged between the du Monmachs and their upper-class peers both domestic and foreign; most seemed to be pleasant invitations to stay, or letters of thanks for providing hospitality.

 

The only leather-bound book in the room appeared to be a small prayer book, as was the fashion back in those times; it was as crimson as blood, and had obviously been specially made. Handling the tiny object was oddly stressful, as if the merest wrong movement from hands so much larger than the dainty ones it had clearly been cherished by, would break it apart. Slipping it open with extreme care, Heavy feels something slide out onto his hand. 

The book itself was a decoy, and inside had carefully rested a locket, for who knew how many decades. It seemed worth showing to Spy, at the very least; the espionage agent may be able to pry it open and give more detail as to the item, and whose neck had carried it all those years ago.

 

Without warning, a sudden gush of icy wind slams through the open door and sends papers flying in all directions, startling the occupants. It had originated from inside the castle…

That’s when they heard Engie swear at the top of his voice, boots clearly clomping back down the stairs as he called for the rest of RED to come quick. The mercenaries immediately dropped what they were doing and scrambled to comply… all save Heavy, who slipped the locket back in its book case, and stowed it in his pocket before following. 

 

He had a strange feeling it was very important the others see this.

 

~)0(~

 

“Gosh darnit, Spah, you’re fixing to give me a heart attack one of these days!” Engie yelps, clutching at his chest as the espionage agent materialises beside him without warning. His gunslinger clenches as the Texan fights off the powerful urge to knock some sense into the smug-looking sonovabitch, as there’s a far more pressing problem. “Felt that weird cold shoot through a second ago, so cold I could barely breath, then I saw the fire go out and I think someone tried to scream… when I got here, I found ‘em like this.”

 

He gestures to the sprawled forms of Scout and Medic, seemingly barely conscious and muttering strange words as they lay limply where they’d fallen. Demo reaches down for Scout’s arm, but hisses and pulls away instantly. 

 

“They’re ice cold, like they’ve gone skinny dipping in the Arctic!” he exclaims, rubbing his hands together a moment before trying a different tactic. Grabbing the blanket from where it had fallen on the floor, the demolitions expert wrapped the lanky lad in it and hoisted him off the doctor. “Alright, come on laddie… need you to wake up and tell us what’s going on here.”

 

Scout slurred something that Demo strained to catch, even though the runner was basically breathing into his ear. All he could make out were a few words of French, which he didn’t know Scout knew,  “ _...run… baby… ink stains… _ ” and nothing more. The runner’s eyes shut, and his head dropped to Demo’s shoulder, the chill of before seeming to eke out of him as the seconds went on. 

 

Pyro was carefully coaxing a fire back to life from the embers in the grate, with all the urgency of someone trying to reassure a mortally-wounded soldier that help was coming. Though if anyone could resurrect the blaze, it would be the firebug… so they were left to continue their chosen task. 

 

Heavy had a far greater tolerance for cold, and simply picked the icy-skinned Medic up, straining to hear if there was something intelligible coming out, or merely nonsense. Barely audible, Medic seemed to be repeating something in variations of German and French, “ _...don’t leave… lost… price… love… bleed… _ ” none of which seemed to make any sense. 

“Doctor… is Heavy, you need to wake up.” he tries, and taps at the physician’s cheek in an attempt to garner a reaction. The mumbling ceases, and Medic waves a hand at the offending prodding, a rather violent threat rolling off his tongue as his eyes snap open fully and register things are amiss. 

 

“What? I was just-... there was a cold-...” sentences mix together as Medic tries to piece together exactly what had happened. He notices his new position, and motions he would like to be placed down; Heavy swiftly complies, by seating the doctor on the couch. Medic rubs at his temples, shivering slightly at the chill slowly leaving his body. 

 

“Doc? Can you tell us what happened?” Engie prods, tossing a spare blanket over the man as he drops down beside the Medic. “I was only gone a few minutes, and suddenly you two were out like a light, cold as a glacier and mumbling who-knows-what in a dark, cold room. 

 

“I’m… not certain, Herr Engineer. One moment I was examining Scout’s ankle, and the next, it was like being backstabbed by the BLU Spy’s icicle blade. And the next I recalled, Heavy is holding me and you are all watching on with bizarre expressions…” Medic replied, frustrated at his own inability to explain the situation. There’s a residual discomfort tingling through his spine, and he shrugs off the long coat quickly, drawing bemused expressions as he does so. 

 

Sniper swears loudly, before Medic can even attempt to examine the area with his fingers.    
“You were right, it looks like Spy had a go at you…” he confirms Medic’s suspicions, adding, “Ain’t bleeding anymore though, so don’t worry about that… just looks angry, and sort of… blue around the edges. Some sorta ice?”

 

“The bushman is correct, Doctor, there does appear to be ice shards or some similar material to it, in the wound. An icicle-blade would not have merely stopped there, I would surmise that this is more a case of water within your own body solidifying on contact with whatever weapon struck you. “ Spy says, stalking about Medic’s back so as to see the injury from every angle. “However, I think the most pressing matter… is that you were not only attacked by something seemingly invisible and powerful, but that it managed to stab you in the spine without causing any severe damage to your body, or your clothes. It seems more like… it is merely decorative, for show, as it were.”

 

“Well whatever it is, I reckon we should probably get it patched up before it gets any worse.” Engineer suggests, and Pyro helpfully brings over the Medic’s bag. “Thanks Py, would you mind keeping an eye on that fire for me? Might need to cook on it later…”

The firebug salutes Engie and moves back to the fireplace, gently feeding it sticks and twigs, all surplus to the logs already in there. More like, giving it a treat. Engie shakes his head, some days, he just can’t comprehend how Pyro’s mind works…

 

Salute.

“Hey, uh, has anyone seen Soldier for a while now?” Engie asks, and the others look to one another in confusion. “Anybody? He’s a mite hard to miss, fellas…”

 

Sniper snaps his fingers. “The van! He wanted to take a nap while we were driving in, but Scout was sprawled over the front seat, so I offered him my bunk… didn’t count on him taking the racoons with him. I’ll go get Solly, he’s probably confused about where we are right now…”

 

“Take someone with you.” Engie orders. “We have two down now, don’t need to make it a trifecta of crazy around these parts.”

 

“I’ll go.” Demo volunteers, stretching. “Bit cramped in here, and it’ll be interesting to see Jane’s face when we tell him what’s been going on around here! Come on then, Sniper, might as well get going before anything else happens.”

 

As the front door shuts behind the duo, Spy is already applying a securing bandage across the gauze pad, and making certain it will not slip off when Medic changes shirts for something less… blood-stained. His deft fingers and experience with injury always make him indispensable when Medic is indisposed, or away from base; though often the mercs are hard-pressed to convince the espionage agent it is worth getting his gloves bloody. 

 

“There, that should hold for the time being.” Spy states, pulling away as Heavy hands Medic a new shirt. Moving over to Scout, where Demo had curled the runner into an armchair, he begins to strip away the blanket… and only barely dodges the instinctive swing thrown at his head by the rapidly-awakening batter. “ _ Mon fils _ , I would prefer if you restrain from doing that again…” he admonishes, too focused on the moment to realise what had slipped out. 

Heavy and Medic look to one another, smirking, but let the moment pass uncontested.

 

“Spy? How the heck did you-... I was just talking to Medic, and there was… cold. Then nothing, I think.” Scout chatters, then coughs. “Feels like someone poured ice into my lungs man, what the hell?” He coughs again, an angry hacking sound that subsides as swiftly as it came. 

 

Despite the shocked protest, Spy yanks Scout’s shirt off, eyes darting over the runner’s spine and feeling a sense of quiet relief when no immediate wounds are noted. Though his chest, was another story. Beneath the ever-present dogtags, a series of angry wounds peppered the area over his heart; all as odd as the one Medic now possessed. Ice dotted through the area, and seemed disinclined to melt despite the warm flesh all around it.

 

“That makes a matching set.” Spy comments cryptically, and reaches once more for Medic’s bag, snatching out gauze, salves and bandages. Care as meticulous and careful as provided for the physician, though with just a shade more compassion, perhaps. As he finished, and snipped off the end of the bandage, he turns on his heel to address the remains of the team. “And now, I believe it would be in our best interests to find out exactly wants you both dead…”

 

Medic and Scout heartily agreed.

 

~)0(~

 

Dinner was a dismal affair indeed. 

They ate in the small sitting room, despite locating the Dining Hall not too far away; it just seemed like such a vast, exposed space, now. At least the little room had a fireplace and was easily defendable…

 

Soldier was quite put out to learn of all the chaos he’d missed out on, and the raccoons had apparently made an almost unholy mess of Sniper’s van, so the pair weren’t exactly on speaking terms right now. The sharpshooter was still out there now, trying to fix the disaster. Still, Jane was happily, and loudly, wracking his brain for any sort of similar hijinks Merasmus may have pulled, or told him about, when they were roommates… 

 

Demo was also in trouble with Sniper, mostly for laughing. He’d gone to sit with Engie, Solly, Heavy and Pyro as they all gobbled up some sort of meaty stew; it was hearty enough to warm them to the bones, but not as flavoursome as normal, given the shortage of herbs. Either way, it was appreciated. Notably, Medic and Scout ate little; though Spy watched them like a hawk and threatened to have Soldier spoonfeed the pair if they did not finish  _ at least  _ half the bowls.Everyone had a different manner for showing they cared, after all; and unfortunately for the pair, Spy’s was through extortion. 

 

They seemed rather listless, which was at odds with their personalities, though most chalked it up to them being exhausted from all the chaos of the day. Most were, in fact. After a few trips to the bathroom, and the horrified exclamations of Spy who had never before been subject to what Sniper had termed a ‘longdrop dunny’, everyone settled in for the night. 

Blankets and pillows were seeded around the room, and mercenaries dropped wherever felt most comfortable to them; with Scout and Medic resting on the furniture, visible to all, lest something happen again. 

 

None of the others had had even the vaguest of ideas as to what had taken ahold of Scout’s ankle and dragged them all down this mysterious path; so Medic had merely provided more numbing salve to the angry wound, and promised to heal it in the morning. Feeling far too tired to take the extra ten steps across to the medigun, much less strap it on and use it. Scout hadn’t seemed too bothered, overall, and bound it up with a handwrap, so he didn’t get the ointment all over the couch. 

 

Sleep was not easily come by, for many of the team; though several fell into the dreamless void almost the instant their heads touched the provided pillows. Exhaustion began to overcome even the most resilient, and one by one, everyone began to fall asleep…

It was only as he felt unconsciousness beckon, like a siren, that Heavy realised he had forgotten to speak to Spy about the locket from the study…

 

Ah well, he told himself, there was always tomorrow.

 

~)0(~

 

Bizarre dreams had tormented him all night long, and by what everyone assumed was morning despite the perpetually overcast sky, Scout was more exhausted than before he’d shut his eyes. Desperately tired, confused, hungry and yet full of nervous energy. 

Something about this place made him want to run, and never look back.

 

He staggered out of the room, searching for the stairs with bleary, barely-open eyes and a bursting bladder. Finally making it to the second floor, Scout staggered into the bathroom, and partook of the sweet relief that is satiating a desperate need; the lack of running water had been negated by someone leaving wet wipes and disinfectant on the basin instead. Toilet paper, too. Just in case, he supposes. 

 

Moving out of the cramped room, he runs straight into Demo, who is on his way in. They laugh, heartily, and try to move out of one another’s way with little success…

Without warning, Medic strides over, snatches Scout by the arm and drags him off. Leaving Demo watching with wide, surprised eyes, and a hand edging to the hilt of the ever-present Eyelander, just in case...

 

“Uh, Doc, what the hell was that?” Scout snarls, managing to shake off the iron grip as they moved further down the hallway towards the other wing. When the physician doesn’t respond, the runner darts around him to wave a hand in the oddly blank face. “Doc? You doing alright? Want me to get someone?”

 

A strangely un-Medic smile curls at the edges of the doctor’s lips as he says, in a strange tone that echoed oddly, “ _ Oh no, dear one. All I need is you… _ ”

Scout is frozen to the spot, the phrase seemed to jerk him back into the myriad of confusing, terrifying and haunting dreams from the night before; and therefore the runner finds himself an unresisting target, as the Medic-who’s-sure-acting-like-he-ain’t-Medic swoops down to kiss him. Right on the mouth. In a freakishly familiar way that sends a shudder of revulsion up his spine, and makes the bizarre array of cuts on his chest blaze with agony.

 

Snapping out of it, he shoves the doctor backwards, horrified both by the situation… and the strange fearful echo welling through him. It was like hearing an emotion, but from a distance; or something, it didn’t make any sense whatsoever. Medic smacks into the wall, knocking a portrait off the wall as he stumbled; blank eyes snapping into sharp relief as he gasps, staring about wildly in confusion. 

“Scout? What am I doing here? I was just settling down to sleep and then-...” Medic says, pinching the bridge of his nose as if a headache plagued him viciously. “Where are my glasses? Did I drop them?”

 

And that’s when it strikes the runner, the little detail he’d noticed without noticing… the thing that was wrong with the picture. Medic couldn’t see jack shit without his glasses, usually, and he wasn’t wearing them now… that, and the weird behaviour, just didn’t add up. But before he can ask, a third party arrives in the conversation.

 

“Gentlemen, I believe Scout will be coming with me now… Medic, Demo will accompany you for whatever your purpose up here was. Come along, _ lapin _ , breakfast awaits.” Spy interjects, a coercively gentle hand sliding under Scout’s elbow as he turned away, and the runner doesn’t resist as the espionage agent guides him away from whatever that was.

 

Medic takes a step after him, frowning in confusion, but runs into the beefy barrier of Demoman; who is watching him with suspicion. The doctor grabs his head as an intense burst of light flashes behind his eyelids, he thinks he cries out as the searing spreads to his spine… and then Medic feels himself falling through the floor as Demo calls for the others. What on earth was happening to them?

 

~)0(~

 

Scout was refusing to talk about it, just wrapped himself in the blanket on the couch and stared into the dancing flames so long that even Pyro got worried the runner would blind himself. When Medic had collapsed, he had been brought back to the sitting room, but Spy had made a point of having him placed as far from Scout as possible. 

 

Heavy was worried. Soldier and Pyro had decided to explore the other rooms on the ground floor to see if there was anything to explain the crazy nonsense going on, and come up empty-handed. Demo and Sniper had been bringing a steady stream of books, letters, ledgers, portraits and diaries to the sitting room for the others to read through; and Engie was setting up a dispenser ‘just in case’ by the door. Everyone seemed geared up for some sort of fight or disaster to befall them…

Finally getting a quiet moment, Heavy showed the strange locket to Spy, who easily managed to trick the ancient jewellery’s mechanisms into opening. A soft little chime rang out as it did so, and they all saw Scout’s head snap towards it, eyes going blank and fingers reaching for it before snapping out of it with a strange choking sob. The runner wrapped himself in the blanket immediately, and refused to talk to anyone for the next hour, afterwards. 

 

Clearly, something about the locket was important and tied into the unusual goings-on here. Spy studied the exquisitely painted miniature portraits within the hidden compartment; Heavy confirmed that they were indeed the people from the paintings upstairs. The Count & Countess du Monmach, and what appeared to be… a son, or maybe a daughter, but definitely a child of some form. 

 

Though neither could account for the prayer book, or why it held a secret compartment that fit the locket, both Heavy and Spy agreed it was relevant to the situation. Together, the pair scoured through page after page of ancient documents and notes, sharing anything they deemed as important or collateral information with one another. Though it was not until one of them chanced upon the diary of Countess Seraphina that any real details became clear. 

 

It followed the journey of her blissful courtship and marriage to the dashing Count du Monmach, how they had travelled to his family’s estate in a bizarrely remote location but still held parties every month that were well-attended and lauded. The joy of discovering a child would soon arrive, the little gifts he gave her just to remind her he loved her; Seraphina’s quiet fears about not being mother enough, or having to have the servants raise her child, like she had been reared. 

Life, in excruciating, and exquisite detail. Several days of one year were missing, followed by a scribbled entry and a sigil, announcing a healthy son, Francois du Monmach. After which, diary page after diary page was filled to bursting with every single detail of her son’s day… it continued through three more volumes, and the pair of researchers learned the exact dates that the child had sat up, crawled, toddled, laughed, spoken a word and used the bathroom properly. Seraphina was clearly adoring of her son; though under her words, there seemed to be a strange… darkness. 

Neither of them could accurately account for it, until a volume written when the child was approximately five years of age, and a page smeared with ancient tears of grief and desolation announcing the sudden loss of Francois. The details of how were so scarce and muddled it was impossible to ascertain; though what little Seraphina had written afterwards seemed centred solely on her husband, and how supportive he had been.

 

Even Spy felt bile rise in his throat as his swift mind drew a very grim conclusion about the situation. One which, it appeared, even Seraphina suspected later on though could not prove. Her words shifted over time, from love to resentment, to fear and rage. Her last entry was a quickly scribbled statement that sent a chill down even Heavy’s spine.

_ ‘Should you find my bones, I died of love. Though it was not love of mine.’ _ Cryptic, but very telling of how well she knew her husband. 

 

Closing the diary, they looked to one another.    
“Well, as fascinating as the history of this castle’s residents was… I am not certain of how it will help us resolve this particular matter with Medic and Scout.” Spy said, staring into the fireplace, expression dark and foreboding. 

 

Outside the storm rages as angrily as the day before, leaving them trapped within the castle’s confining stone walls. Hours upon hours go by, food and water bottles get distributed every so often, and the rumbling of their stomachs or the call of nature are the only real tell that time has passed. The woodpile begins to run low, threatening to leave them all in the cold if an alternative is not found; no one feels braving the woods is a particularly sane idea, and there are no real trees in the sprawling garden. Though, as an  _ Axetinguisher _ -brandishing Pyro thoughtfully pointed out, there was quite a lot of wooden furniture just going to waste…

 

Unconventional, perhaps, but the fire kept burning. And that was all that mattered.

 

~)0(~

 

As everyone begins to feel the drag of night washing over the world, Medic is still frantically wracking his brain to figure out what exactly could have caused such a bizarre series of symptoms. Nothing logical seemed to align with a sensation of cold and pain, the sudden appearance of unusual wounds, trance-like states and hallucinations strong enough to kiss Scout…

 

The pair had been kept apart all day, but they were both still somewhat shaken by the situation; wrapped in layers of blankets and perpetually accompanied everywhere by at least one of the others. As a group, the mercenaries had decided they absolutely had to get out of here… though unfortunately, there was nowhere else for them to go, at present. 

With the storm refusing to let up, it was unlikely the flooding had ebbed enough for them to drive over the only bridge out of the area; and backtracking would only take them to the previous battlefield, putting them further behind schedule as they waited for better weather.

 

It was like being sick, Scout found himself thinking. He’d done almost nothing all day long, and yet, was utterly exhausted by the time night rolled around… normally he’d be restless, running up and down the stairs in order to appease the odd jittering that always accompanied long periods of staying still… but for some reason, he just wanted to sleep the whole time. Engie actually had to wake him up for dinner, which was a bit of a shock to the runner, because Scout hadn’t realised he’d fallen asleep…

 

Some sort of soup, this time, pumpkin maybe? It didn’t matter too much, as it tasted pretty good, even if it wa a struggle to get more than a few spoonfuls down despite the encouragement received from Engie… and Spy. He couldn’t finish it all, but they left him alone after he got about halfway; satisfied he wasn’t going to blow away on the wind from malnourishment. 

 

Sinking back onto the couch, and wriggling slightly to find a more comfortable position, Scout felt himself slip into the gentle arms of sleep. They enfolded him, encompassing and soft…

He thought he heard someone whisper that they were sorry, just before he slid into the strangely haunting dreams that plagued his nights…

 

But it wasn’t him who opened his eyes.

 

~)0(~

 

Engie swore loud enough to snap everyone else in the room awake, sending more than a few scrambling for a weapon of some kind. “Goddamnit, sorry everyone, but we’ve got a situation here…” he says, gesturing to the empty furniture. “Looks like we’re going to have to track them down, I suppose…”

 

Heavy stretched, rising immediately and readying for the search that would take place. Grumbling mercenaries scrambled to their feet all around him, startling birds and raccoons from their slumber, as they did so. The mountain of a man tried to soothe the doves nearest, petting Archimedes on his head and muttering soft german phrases to the flustered bird; whilst Soldier was taking a slightly different tactic, ordering the rioting raccoons to ‘fall in’, and frowning when the platoon seemed one short..

 

“They can’t have gotten too far, the front doors are still shut tight and it’s raining sideways out there, anyways. Must be inside somewhere, we’re gonna have to split up to search, cover ground faster that way. I’ll take Pyro and Solly, clear the rooms on the ground floor… the rest of you try upstairs. Holler if you find either of them, and no one hurt ‘em, I got a feeling this ain’t them that’s doing all the crazy shit that’s been happening recently…” Engineer ordered, collecting the firebug and military man on the way through as he exited the sitting room.

 

The others stumbled to the base of the stairs and begin the tedious journey to the second floor. Demo and Sniper went left, down the corridor to the guest bedrooms, leaving Heavy and Spy to sweep the library, study and master bedroom. 

Nothing stirred in the library, though it appeared as if someone had indeed been there shortly before the search party’s arrival; as various tomes had been painstakingly reshelved, and others were flat upon the provided reading tables. Peering curiously at them, Heavy notes the pages are heavily scrawled with odd symbols, lists of ingredients, and strange words that left a sour taste in the mouth just looking upon them. 

 

“It would not be too early to surmise that perhaps there is a supernatural element to what has been going on around here…” Spy says, in the silence that followed their ingress. “Merasmus and the Demonman both have something similar to this, though,” he wrinkles a mask-clad nose, “at the very least theirs are not so… slapdash.”

 

“Because Demoman and Merasmus know what they are doing.” Heavy proffers, the thought simply slipping out as he stared. He gestured to the nearest tome, “This? This is like... someone who has copied homework from many friends before it is due, some is correct but the one who wrote it down does not truly understand what is there.” 

Spy raised his eyebrows at the brilliant insight. “Indeed, Heavy, that is the conclusion I would draw as well from the provided evidence. Perhaps if we show this to Demo, he may be able to decipher exactly what the Count or Countess had intended with these… scrawlings.”

 

The pair turn sharply at the sound of a footstep in the hallway outside, solitary and seemingly hurried; without a word, Spy flicks open his butterfly knife and wrenches open the door in a single, fluid motion. And yet, the hallway outside is as devoid of life as ever, not even the shadows stirred. It was, in a word… suspicious. 

 

Heavy moved out into the corridor first, as always silently offering himself as a human shield should something attempt an attack; even though it went against every hard-earned and ingrained survival instinct to turn his back on a spy. Still, the need was pressing, and Heavy quietened the alarm he felt by telling himself that the espionage agent would never do something to endanger the life of his missing son; even though the stubborn fool refused to publicly acknowledge the young man as such. 

 

A chill breeze curled around them, rocking the study door back and forth with a gentle thump-thump, as the wood bounced off of something inside. Hesitating in the doorway, both straining to hear anything further… but nothing catches their rigid attention. Heavy stands guard as Spy slips inside, slipping from shadow to shadow until he had reached the window and shut it against the weather outside. Spy flicks the blade closed, though refuses to lower his guard fully.

“Someone was here, but they must have left in a hurry when they heard us in the library…” he muses aloud, to the other mercenary. Eyes darting in all directions as he takes in the state of disarray the room was in, and the books haphazardly strewn from desk to floor. “It appears whoever it was felt the urge to do some midnight reading… but it seems they did not find what they were searching for.”

 

Heavy pushes the door fully open, crouching to remove the small items offering resistance, and feels the covers of the mishandled tomes crumble under his fingers. Pages spew from them, some printed, most handwritten in varying degrees of scrawling letters… interspersed with commentary or symbols in all manner of languages. As the Russian carefully peruses the top-most book, he finds several pages freshly torn free and missing…

 

“Clearly, they found what they were looking for.” Spy says, standing at his elbow and frowning down at the discovery; as intrigued as Heavy as to what exactly was going on here. “The real question is where have they gone now that they have what they sought?” 

 

“You have an idea?” Heavy queries, passing the item over so the other might see it better. Rain clatters against the windowpane, and it rattles angrily as wind buffets in fury at not being allowed within; lightning periodically illuminates the room, though the thunder sounds more like distant canonfire, suggesting the brunt of the storm appears to be moving away. Still, Spy stares down at the pages, mouth moving silently, perhaps unconsciously, as the man reads through even languages Heavy was not fluent enough in to make sense of. 

  
  


Sniper and Demo appear in the doorway as lightning flashes, startling all four of them; though not a single man would ever admit such a thing. Spy provides the odd, arcane items for the Scottish supernatural expert to read, and Sniper tells Heavy they didn’t find a trace of anyone in the guest bedrooms, nor the bathroom. Though it did look like someone had fished through a box on the dresser n the furthest room, which seemed a bit odd, now the bushman thought about it. The Russian felt a pang run through him, recalling the locket located in the days before… and dove a hand into his pocket, searching for the familiar metallic sensation.

 

His eyes widened. It was gone.

  
  


“Oh lads, you’re not going to like what’s in this nasty little storybook…” Demo warns, frown deepening the more he read. The demolitions expert and resident supernaturalist of RED team speeding through the pages, pausing only to ask for a few clarifications from Spy as to the the nature, or direct translation of an odd phrase or conjugation of a word, here and there. Otherwise, he seemed utterly absorbed. 

 

“Be that as it may, given that we are still searching for the missing members of our team, perhaps Heavy and I should keep searching the other rooms. I am certain the bushman will be adequate enough protection, should any of the books become agitated by your presence.” Spy goads, heading for the door and deliberately ignoring the furious, resentful glare that Sniper threw at his back. 

 

“Aye, you do that, me’n’Sniper will be just fine…” Demo mutters offhandedly, expression grave as he flips another page. “Might want to hurry though…”

  
  


With that cryptic warning ringing in their ears, Heavy and Spy shut the door behind them.   
Turning to survey the rest of the corridor, they automatically discounted the linen closet, and the secret passageway, as neither appeared disturbed… 

“Shall we?” Spy magnanimously gestures for the other to go first, and Heavy responds with a bland, yet amused expression as he moves towards the next door and pushes it open. Only to pause a strange, clip-clomp, clip-clomp, clip-clomp can be heard echoing through the room, and out towards the duo. 

  
  


Despite the gloom, and the obvious disuse, it was clear that the little room had once been lovingly maintained; the walls still held a shred of blue paint and little murals upon them. Drag marks indicated that the small bed had once been in the corner, where now a small white wooden crib stood; the mobile and veil ancient, crumbling, but still holding firm against the gentle rocking motions. Clip-clomp, clip-clomp, clip-clomp. Almost hypnotic, and mesmerising to behold, it caught both the Spy and Heavy off-guard… as did the source of the motions. 

 

Sitting straight-backed and watchful on a small stool beside the crib, ankles crossed together in an oddly prim manner, was the missing Scout. His gaze was far away, though the oddly flashing eyes looked down into the cradle with a lost, longing love that seemed to make the hearts of those who beheld it ache in sympathy. One hand gently rocked the cradle, the other clutched loosely about the locket hung about his throat, each movement bounced it off the dog-tags with a soft tinkling sound. He did not appear to acknowledge their presence, or know where he was…

 

Spy approaches cautiously. “Scout?” he tries, and receives no answer. “Jeremy? Can you hear me?” 

 

The espionage agent pauses a moment, thinking; eyes meticulously darting about the room, seeking an explanation for this odd behaviour. But it is Heavy who speaks next, having a strange thought as to what was happening, and hoping to be proven incorrect.

“Countess Seraphina?” he rumbles, in his accented tone, and Scout appears to start… turning to them with an uncharacteristic expression of shock on his features; like someone else was wearing his face and reacting for him. It was disconcerting for the other mercenaries to see, to say the least. 

 

“ _ He took my baby from me, you know… _ ” said the not-Scout. The voice was his but, somehow, like it was borrowed. It seemed to have a high-pitched echo, an almost ethereal quality to it that struck all those who heard it, as chillingly out of place. Blue eyes blinked, flashing softly with a strange filmy light, and the head tilted to take in the visitors. “ _ The Count. He loved me, or I thought he did… he loved that I loved him more, I suppose. And when our darling Francois was born… he seemed happy then too, but… _ ”

 

He, no  _ she _ , seemed distraught, though her mannerisms did not quite align with the face the Countess had borrowed, and so her tears seemed odd as they streamed down Scout’s cheeks. Spy placed a consoling hand on Scout’s shoulder, and the Countess Seraphina accepted the proffered handkerchief daintily, dabbing at the tears in a manner that was honestly disconcerting to behold for the other mercenaries. 

“ _ Francois was my joy, he was ours, a little life born of our love. Servants and guests cooed over him as much as I, and yet… I could feel the growing resentment my husband felt towards him, the smile he would make at the baby never reached his eyes. _ ” Seraphina said, hands clenching tightly as the cradle slowly ceased rocking to her right. She spoke clearly enough, a slight accent detectable when she stumbled over larger words, using an unfamiliar mouth and language to tell her story. “ _ Jacques was always studying strange books, doing odd things… but I never realised how dire his experiments were until it was too late. The servants would clean up after him, you see… the animals that went missing simply replaced without fuss. Until one of the maids, and the stable boys started to disappear… I knew them all by name, so it did not take long to realise what was happening. _ ”

 

She sighs, a weariness so deep within the sound that it was like a physical wave emanating out towards the others. “ _ He was practising… I should have seen it. All those years of isolation here, never leaving and only ever receiving guests rather than being one… it can do things to a man. It is true what they say, however, love blinds you to the truth; it was only when found what he had done to our beloved Francois that I realised what he had done… and now I am here, forever beyond the reach of my little one where he rests. All for the love of a selfish man… _ ”

 

The Countess turns back to the cradle, rocking it rhythmically again, eyes locked on the oddly squirming bundle within. She hummed, eerily melodious, for a moment more… then collapsed forwards as the silvery sheen faded from Scout’s eyes, and the runner’s hand slipped from the locket. Spy reacted swiftly enough to forestall Scout’s head striking against the crib’s solid railing; steadying the descent by curling a protective arm around his son’s torso and drawing him back with delicate precision. 

Heavy moved forwards and slipped the locket off over the runner’s head, and took the opportunity to glance into the crib; startling back in surprise as he saw the ‘infant’ for the first time. He went to reach in, but Spy stopped him, motioning for the Heavy Weapons expert to take Scout instead; and Heavy complied, easily lifting the runner as one would a child.

 

Speaking of, Spy’s expression was bemused as he reached down and removed a well-swaddled Lieutenant Bites from the crib, the little raccoon fidgeting in frustration against the soft blanket. This would make an amusing story to tell the others, at the very least…

  
  


“Er, I’d ask what’s going on in here, but frankly, I don’t think I wanna know.” Sniper chimes in, glancing through the open doorway with Demo tagging along behind; the latter’s face was buried deep in another book, rapidly flipping pages as he searched for clues. “Demo thinks he’s found some sort of dark magical bullshit, but he’s not sure what exactly ‘cause whoever wrote it had no idea what they were doing.”

 

“Too bloody right they didn’t!” Demo pipes up, snapping the book shut sharply and fixing a sharp stare on the others. “The idiot that scribbled this wouldn’t be able to conjure his arse out of a top hat if he tried-... hold on, is that Solly’s missing raccoon wrapped up like a baby?”

 

“Long story.” Heavy answers, sighing. Life was rarely so strange at home, sometimes he missed the icy slopes and his family… though, he realised looking down upon comparatively small frame of the runner he held, perhaps it was for the best. This particular dysfunctional family, the REDs, they needed him far more than his sisters ever would.

 

“Indeed, we shall discuss it at length once we have found wherever Medic is hiding himself…” Spy says, then hands Sniper the wriggling bundle of furry rage. “Here, bushman, you are good with strange animals… would you be so kind as to accompany Heavy here back to the sitting room?”

 

Grumbling, but knowing he can’t refuse, the sharpshooter concedes. “Alright, you smug croissant, but you owe me…” 

Holding the angry critter a full arm’s-length from his body,  he turned and made his way down the stairs to reunite Lieutenant Bites with his squad leader, and hopefully avoid lacerations along the way. With a rather bemused expression on his face, Heavy followed; leaving Spy and Demo to track down the missing physician, and whatever paranormal force was pulling Medic’s strings.

 

~)0(~

 

Rain lashed across his grinning face, wind whipping about, snatching at hair and coat; yet still he laughed. Feeling the cold for the first time in so very, very long… it raised goosebumps on the flesh of his arms; yes, his now… and always. It had worked. 

All those long years of dedicated research, the sacrifices he had made… all come together in this moment. He breathed in the icy air and laughed again for the sheer pleasure of the sensation, enjoying the moment of freedom as the body’s host slumbered, unaware. 

 

Soon, soon he would take what was rightfully his. It would take a little time yet to worm the remnants of his personality throughout the consciousness of this form; to absorb the memories and take over. Little by little it was occurring already, with none being the wiser…

And the Countess, ah, his dear wife was here too… her essence seeping into the repository of a youthful form like hers, a somewhat unfaithful recreation, but it mattered little what face she wore. As long as she lived, by his side…

 

His thoughts were interrupted as the roof access door slammed open behind him, and the Count whirled about to confront the uncouth lower-class cretins who  _ dared  _ interrupt the solitude of one born to aristocracy. He snarled as the ones the host recognised as Spy and Demoman strode out onto the ramparts with grim expressions; advancing rapidly upon his position. 

“Doctor… or perhaps I should say, Jacques… you need to come with us.” Spy said, not breaking stride until he was before the Count. The Demoman standing just behind his comrade, in a show of silent solidarity and strength; eye focused on him in a manner that made the Count uneasy. As if this Demo could see him, hiding within their Medic.

As if he knew.

 

“ _ No. _ ” he eventually responds. “ _ I wish to be out here for the time being, the storm is exquisite, is it not? Such a marvel of nature… _ ” The Count watches them from the corner of his eye, making note of their movements. 

 

“Really? Because I think you’d best be getting out of that body before it catches pneumonia.” Demo states, with a friendly grin that didn’t meet his eye. “Or would you mind walking it inside out of the rain, maybe? Hate to have to tussle up here on the slick stone… but it wouldn’t be the first time our team’d had to roughhouse on the ramparts of a decaying castle.”

 

“ _ Whatever do you mean? _ ” The Count feigned ignorance, taking a step back from the others and feeling their hands latch onto his arms. He struggled, but his control over this form was not yet strong enough that all the muscles responded correctly, or with the speed he desired. Of course, the familiar voices and the rapidly increasing heartbeat had an unfortunate side-effect; his host was waking up once more… The Count snarled, and it felt like trying to bare his teeth through a layer of make-up. Not quite his own, familiar, skin… not yet. 

Medic’s consciousness seemed panicked as it awoke to find himself neither in the place last remembered… nor in full control of his actions. The Count felt his tenuous hold on the form slipping away as the Medic reasserted himself, forcing the interloper to retreat; though not surrender, no. Even as the remnants of the castle’s former master was thrust out of the body, he knew with smug certainty that it was merely a matter of time before he would once again have access; the traces of his essence were like vines wrapping about a treetrunk. Blooming, as the host died to feed it…

 

Soon.

 

~)0(~

 

Confused, freezing cold and clutching tightly to what was either Demo or Soldier going by the broad proportions of the chest, Medic snapped back to full awareness with adrenaline surging through his veins. His heart galloped, head pounding and body shuddering as it registered the temperature of the rain that sapped all traces of warmth from skin and cloth. 

Demo clapped him on the shoulder, and righted the physician. “You the one back in the driver’s seat, Doc?” he queried, placing a steadying arm about Medic’s shoulders. 

 

“Judging from the confusion on his face, I would hazard a guess that the answer is yes…” Spy added, alerting Medic to his presence just behind him. “Come, if we do not get inside shortly we will all drown out here.” 

 

Medic let them lead him back to the wooden door, flapping in the strong gusts of wind, and back inside. The trio trickled water down the stairs, and through the various hidden servant corridors, as they traipsed back towards the hidden entrance on the second floor. A concern for another time, it seemed…

 

The whole trip was rather a blur for Medic, only the sudden flare of warmth accompanying their entry to the sitting room managed to catch his flagging attention; though the light seemed to make his headache throb worse than before. Engineer looked up from where he was hovering over the sleeping Scout, wrapped up like a burrito; taking note of the situation and coming over immediately. Pyro was dispatched to grab some of Medic’s dry clothes, and a towel; but not before the professional arsonist very helpfully nearly blasted both of the doctor’s eyebrows off with successive blasts of the Rainblower. 

 

“Can anyone… tell me… what exactly is happening?” Medic inquires, looking around at the rather colourful blobs surrounding him. The one he assumes is Engineer hands over Medic’s glasses, and the room suddenly springs into high definition clarity; how odd that he had not worn them when leaving to do… whatever it was he had been doing when Spy and Demo found him.

 

“Think you’d best just change, get you three warmed up and then we’ll need to have a serious chat about the crazy bullshit you’ve gotten up to in the last few days, Doc.” Engie suggests, and Medic decides to follow through with that advice, retreating to a corner to dry off and change into something a tad warmer. Wet clothes immediately snatched away from the, now dry members of the team, by Pyro, and taken out to be hung up, strung up and airblasted unto oblivion. 

 

“Sit yourself down, Sawbones, and sip on this.” Engie hands over a mug of some sort of instant coffee; it’s hot and has a rather acrid aftertaste, but it suffuses his body with warmth. The Texan sets himself down next to the physician, settling back to watch the man finish his drink. “Now, I think you’re a mite confused as to what in tarnation has been going on around here, and so are we. All we’re sure of is that since the main bridge flooded out, things have gone to hell… had thought it was this place, but between the thing in the woods that grabbed Scout, and your sudden ability to sense traps not even Sniper could detect, well… that theory just ain’t holding water no more.”

 

Engie shifts, so Medic can see his drawn, exhausted appearance reflected in those ever-present goggles. “See, thing is… you and Scout have been, well, we’re going to call it sleepwalking. Though from what Demo tells me, it might be more like having your body hijacked for a joyride by some lingering spirits around the place. Like just now we had to go fetch Scout from the nursery, where he was being right motherly towards Solly’s favourite raccoon… had quite a bit to say too, but it weren’t him doing the talking.” 

He lets the statement sink in for a moment, before adding. “And this is the second time one of us has had to intervene on you doing some strange nonsense… last night you scared the hell out of Scoot by acting odd and kissing him without any warning, and tonight Spah and Demo found you on the roof acting out of your mind. Not to mention those scars… don’t seem to have healed, none, either. Might be best if we just get the hell out of dodge and return back to the old base… sure, the Administrator’ll be mad as a bag full of rattlesnakes, but there’s not much she can do to stop the weather itself.”

 

“ _ No! _ ” Medic barks, surprising himself even as the word escapes and an almost alien rage bubbles up within his chest, like magma in a long-dormant caldera. He sees the way Engie jerks back, and Heavy steps closer, each ready to react to whatever he may do. Medic shudders, feeling the pulsing anger spreading and receding in waves, like the tide upon a shore. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I-...” his explanation chokes off suddenly, as the anger seems to speak of its own accord. “ _ We cannot leave this place, you fools! Try to leave and the woods will stop you dead in moments… _ ” 

The twisted grin that takes hold is cruel, sharp and unsettling. Certainly, the good doctor has a few smiles that could chill the blood in your veins but, this… this held no trace of the Medic in it. Someone else was putting that murderous look into the German’s eyes.

 

“Oi, I don’t care who’s playing hide’n’seek in the Doc, but we can  _ and bloody well will  _ leave this place, even if I have to tie you to the roof of the van, myself, to do it!” Sniper interjects, getting fed up with all this hocus-pocus nonsense. He jabbed the not-quite-Medic in the nose, hard, and absolutely glared at the other man, dead serious and very much willing to follow up on his threats. “Now’s the part where you fuck off, and give us back the Doc, hey?”

 

The not-quite-Medic seethes, shaking with fury as it hisses. “ _ For now, filthy peasant… but I will return, and you will serve us. I worked too hard for you to ruin this! _ ” 

Twitching, Medic exhales sharply as the anger seems to… not exactly fade away, but perhaps… cool off. He blinks, clutching at his chest as Engie snatches away the cup.    
“I would advise, in light of whatever-that-was… not to mention leaving again, until we have sorted this.” He shudders in disgust at the residual sensation of having lost control of his body to an unknown entity, for what seemed to be the third time in as many days.  

 

Demo clears his throat, drawing the room’s attention. “Er, well then… that’s where things get a bit mystical and tricky… and not in the fun fight-a-giant-eyeball-on-Halloween kind of spooky. That’s chump change compared to this..” The swordsman retrieves a semi-destroyed book from his pile of belongings, and brings it over to Medic, thumbing through it as he talked. “Thing is, apparently… some fancy-pants fool Count decided he was going to go mess about with magic for shits’n’giggles back in the day, and not the parlour trick kind. From what we can tell from the books in the library, his own scrawling journals and the diaries of the Countess… he got deep into some half-arsed dark stuff. The kind that usually costs your mind, or soul, or at least a limb…”

 

Half-recalled memories that Medic knew were not his own, flashed up as he beheld the sigils and scrawled handwriting; flickering images of frantic notes written by candlelight, searching through books far older than the castle in the dead of night for information… and, blood? A strange circular sigil calls to mind a dead goat, and the sensation of despair…when his eyes fall on a triangular rune, a terrified scream pierces through this thoughts...

Medic blinks to dispel the memories, and banishes them through sheer willpower as he focuses in on what the demolitions expert is saying.

 

“Count Jacques du Monmach, or however you say it, based on his wife’s accounts, went utterly batshit and started killing in pursuit of some sort of immortality. Or at least, a form of it. The Countess, Seraphina, who we think is communicating through Scout for who-knows-what-reason, found out right about the time her husband went off the deep end and killed their son in some sort of ritualistic way…” Demo paused, looking perturbed at the concept of child sacrifice, as any morally-functioning human should be. “Well, looks like it worked, sort of. He wrote fragments of ideas in all sorts of languages, so the plan was just sort of slapdash… but using the blood that tied the pair together, he thought he could literally bind Seraphina and himself together for eternity.”

 

“I’m guessing that was incorrectly conjured?” Medic offers, pointedly ignoring Scout, whom Soldier was carefully arranging sleeping raccoons on top of. 

“Oh aye, you bet your arse it went wrong. From what I can gather, Old Jackie-boy was aiming for immortality, or at the very least some sort of reincarnation-type love spell… but because he had no idea what he was doing, and was probably half out of his mind from the residual negative magical energy seeping through the place, he screwed up.” Demo flopped onto the couch beside Medic and Engie, stretching out. “Nearest I can figure, he botched the reincarnation spell and basically trapped whatever was left of his and the Countess’s souls here in the castle… waiting for the unlikely event their reincarnated selves would end up walking through the doors. Which of course, meant they wouldn’t be a proper reincarnation, not a blank slate for their souls to inhabit… so, looks like they’re fighting the landlord for the property.”

“As fascinating as that is, Demo, is there any solution to this?” Spy interjects, not-so-subtly finishing his third cigarette since arriving. Medic took note, thinking he may have to get the man some new lungs if they didn’t reach a new map, and respawn, soon. The espionage agent was aiming for nonchalant, but the brief glances towards Scout were quite telling to those who knew him well enough after all these years.

 

“Well, yes and no. The best thing we can do is get the hell out of-...” Demo pauses, eyeing Medic like a ticking bomb with an unknown detonation timer set to blow, and moves on. “The other options are a bit on the get-worse-before-it-gets-better side of things… and they mostly involve letting them possess you properly, before anyone can get banished or resolve their earthly dilemmas or whatever nonsense they need to pass on. Not a great forecast either way.”

 

“Well that ain’t happening, so we’ll have to go with plan A… though it’s not like we can at the moment. Haven’t seen a weather event like this in years.” Engie said, then turned to Demo as a thought struck. “Say, any chance the hullabaloo above us is being caused by the spooks?” 

 

Demo grins. “Hit the nail on the head, Engie my lad. Course they can, if the magic’s powerful enough or dark enough it can raise the dead, whip up storms, make animals and plants dance a merry jig… all that nonsense. Actually, now I think about it, it makes a lot more sense… not really a random series of coincidences when you throw in a botched reincarnation spell, that’s just the magic trying it’s damndest to make sure that Medic and Scout walked through the front door. The nastier spells are the self-fulfilling prophecy kind, after all.”

  
  


“So what should we do?” Heavy asks, crossing his arms over the broad expanse of his chest and bracing himself for the answer. He had an inkling that he would not like it no matter what was said…

 

“Not much we can do, we’re trapped here, and the dead don’t sleep…” Demo replied, shrugging. “Might as well get some rest, and try to scrounge up those missing pages in the morning. Call it a hunch, but I’d bet me good eye at least one of them has something on it about breaking the spell…”

 

“Sounds like a plan to me, none of us have had enough shuteye in the last few days. Remember to wake someone up if you find yourself needing to go to the bathroom overnight, or grab some water… don’t want anyone getting lost, possessed or thrown down a trapdoor. Let’s just make it to morning and see what can be done.” Engie agrees, leaving the couch and quite purposefully moving his sleeping gear in front of the now shut-and-barred doors.

The others dispersed to their own sleeping spaces, save Soldier who paced throughout the room with rhythmic precision, clearly determined to keep an eye on things; and Heavy, who moved onto the couch beside Medic, allowing the exhausted physician to lean against him and doze. On the field or off, their camaraderie ran deep and true; he would watch his doctor’s rest, and keep the others safe… even if, for once, this was an enemy the Russian could not simply defeat with his fists.

 

The last fleeting thought that ran through Medic’s mind as he finally slipped into a peaceful sleep, was to quickly check if Scout was well. His patient had clearly been unattended for some time now… and many odd things had happened recently. There was a pang throughout his chest as the physician felt that he had neglected his duties…

Though, far more terrifying was the oily sensation of another consciousness pressed against your own as your eyes droop closed of their own accord, focused on the runner’s slumbering form, as a voice that was not your own whispered, “ _ Mine _ .”

 

~)0(~

 

Scout, on the other hand, did not take the news as well as the team could have hoped.    
Soldier and Heavy rested their eyes as the other barely-awake mercs stumbled around, to bathroom and breakfast; whilst Demo and Spy did their best to explain the situation to the runner. Sure, he believed them, last year they’d fought a giant wizard and a book that could rain bombs down on command…  _ not even counting the headless horseman, or Monoculous _ … magic was that annoying thing that tried to ruin their lives every so often, and occasionally let the runner throw fireballs. 

 

But this took the proverbial cake. He clutched his head, trying to take all the information in at once. “So what you’re saying is that… way back when, some Count guy killed his kid, and used that blood plus some crazy magical bullshit to reincarnate himself… but he messed up so damn bad it trapped their spirits here, until crazy magical bullshit part two, could trick their reincarnations into coming to the castle?”

 

“That's about the size of it, yeah.” Demo agreed, handing the runner a bottle of scrumpy, which was swiftly confiscated by Spy, who threw a pointed glare at the demolitions expert. “What? He’s quite legal to go drowning his sorrows, Spook…”

 

“Wait… so if you think Medic’s the new Count, that makes me-… oh come on, why do I gotta be the girl? And married to MEDIC of anyone!” Scout shouts, earning a rather lethal glare from the barely-awake physician, who had clearly not had enough coffee to deal with the runner’s nonsense. 

 

“Well, not to get philosophical on you, Scoot but… reincarnation ain’t exactly picky, according to all the different books on the subject. Whenever there’s an opening, your energy, soul or whatever you wanna call it, gets tossed into the next lifeform; I’m thinking the spell made sure to nudge you both into human bodies born within the same century at least. Could’ve been real weird if one of you ended up a dog or something…” Engie explained, casting his mind back to the semester he ended up taking a philosophy elective for the hell of it, and coming out knowing far too much useless information. “Still, wouldn’t get too tied up in it all, ain’t like you’re married in this life… it’s right there in the vows and all. Plus, I thought you’d be more upset to find out about the son you two had together…”

 

The inventor wanders off chuckling, as Scout splutters at the sudden revelation, unsure how to respond to a statement like that. Demo gives the runner a hearty pat on the back and tells him to cheer up, at least that won’t be a problem this time around…

 

His hand pauses before it lands on the runner’s back a second time, as he hears the angry snarl emanating from Medic, the light in his eyes suddenly dimmed and somewhat animalistic; aimed directly at the swordsman. “ _ Don’t you dare touch her, she is not yours to defile… peasant! _ ” hisses the hollow tone of the supernatural boarder sharing their doctor’s skin.

 

The outburst foreshortened by the sudden introduction of Scout’s pillow, hurled directly at Medic’s face with devastating accuracy. The runner on his feet and furious, seemingly not just for himself. “ _ Fuck you, you french fuck _ !” the part that was obviously Scout growled, voice mingling with that of Seraphina as it emphatically added, “ _ And yeah, maybe we were married to you in some past life that your crazy ghost mojo is trying to rekindled, but guess what? Newsflash, asshole, it’s ‘ _ til death do you part’ _ and I’m pretty sure the moment you fucking stabbed us to death was when it ended _ !” 

 

Scout blinks, snapping back to himself, surprised at the words that had come tumbling from his lips, unbidden. Filled with a lifetime’s worth of rage that Seraphina had suppressed, for love and status; and the brimming sense of injustice at having her own life cut short by the Count’s own hand, while he languished in another of his strange fits of madness. 

Dark magic had taken his mind, but he had taken her soul and her life before the servants were able to subdue him; the dying Countess watching, barely alive, as the head cook drove a wicked butcher’s knife through her husband’s spine. Ceasing the madness. 

 

She had thought, in that moment, to be free. And yet, she lingered. 

All of these thoughts, these memories, they burned past Scout’s eyes like a film reel at high speed, and the emotions radiating off each one felt like a physical wound. 

  
  


“ _ My dear, you are as hysterical in this form as you ever were in the last… can you not see what I have wrought for us? Life eternal, moving from each reincarnation to the next, deathless as the gods themselves? _ ” the Count attempts to soothe, but his way is barred by Spy and the espionage agent’s blade to the doctor’s throat. Scout, Seraphina, whomsoever they were when merged as they were now, made a show of stepping back and away from the reaching hand.

This angered the Count, fury flooded the face he had stolen, contorting it oddly. “ _ How dare you be ungrateful for the gift I have given!” he shouts, awakening the slumbering mercenaries, who react swiftly by moving behind the possessed physician. “I have made a mockery of the natural order and granted you forever, Seraphina, how can you deny a man his right to his wife? Do you know what I had to do in order to bring about this scientific miracle? _ ”

 

“ _ Yes. _ ” the Countess intones, cold fury lacing every syllable and dancing in the eyes she shared with Scout. “ _ You killed our son, Francois, he was five years old and loved ducklings more than life itself. You also killed Annabelle, the maid. And the stable boys, John, Sven, Bartholomew and Pietro. And the goats, the chickens, the lambs… too many to name, though I gave one to each, for I loved them. Just looking upon you now, Jacques, nestled in another’s body like some parasite… it revolts me that I ever loved you. Touch me not, and be gone. _ ” 

 

Medic’s mouth gaped, uncertain where to go, before the grip of the Count faded in the emotional turmoil following Seraphina’s overt rebuke, and the physician gasped in a ragged breath. He seemed shaken, but rapidly regaining control of his faculties.

 

“ _ You have my apologies, doctor, for being forced to house as wretched a creature as the soul of my husband. Do not trouble yourself in asking forgiveness, I know the words were not yours, but his… it would be wise if you all left this place, as quickly as you may. _ ” Seraphina said, turning from Medic to address the room at large. Her mannerisms were highly un-Scout-like, too fluid, like a dancer or one trained from a young age to make every move seem graceful. “I must rest, even when shared willingly, taking control of another’s body is quite difficult to maintain without the spell trying to bond us permanently… I hope that you can escape, before we must speak again.”

 

With a gentle, formal nod of farewell, her silvery essence seems to leave the runner all at once, and Scout pitches sideways onto the nearest armchair. “We gotta get out of this place…” he pants, accepting a proffered piece of not-completely-charred toast from Pyro and washing it down with a flat can of  _ Bonk! _ . “He killed her you know, she showed me… the staff tried to save her, ended up killing the bastard… that’s why they left so quickly that they didn’t take anything with them.”

 

Breaking the sudden heavy tension of the room, Archimedes wings his way down from one of the chandeliers and perches on Scout’s shoulder for a moment; gently headbutts him in admonishment, and flies off to comfort the dove’s beloved Medic. His cooing intermingles with the sudden peal of laughter that escapes the runner…

 

“Doc, I think your bird wants us to kiss and make up!” Scout wheezes, and the other mercenaries join in. Sure, it wasn’t hysterically funny, but any ray of light in a bad time is better than commiserating in the dark. 

 

Medic pets Archimedes on the head, smiling along with the others; but deep within, something is whispering a plan, most diabolical, and little by little… his resistance begins to erode. 

 

~)0(~

 

Bathing wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence, seeing as there was an ample amount of water falling from the sky outside that simply needed to be ferried in a few buckets at a time, and Pyro’s beloved flamethrower did the rest. Sure, the bath may never be the same again, but who else was going to use it when the mercenaries left?

 

Everyone having a good long soak to leave them feeling clean took some time, but it was worth it, afterwards. Besides, when everyone was wearing whatever clean clothes were left to them, the rest could be dumped in the tub with a bit of washing powder from Sniper’s van; after swishing them about a bit, leaving the clothes to soak and finally hanging them out in the rain to rinse… it was hard to tell they hadn’t been machine-washed. Plus, it gave the firebug something interesting to do…

 

Although, Scout found himself last on the roster today, mostly because Medic had been sent first and everyone was watching the pair like a hawk. The runner didn’t mind Seraphina, really, she was just someone who’d had a bad life thanks to Count crazy-pants; but it didn’t feel right to share this skin with her. Took a nice scrub in the tub, ala rub-a-dub-dub, before he felt himself again.

Even with the hulking forms of Soldier and Heavy guarding the doorway, thankfully closed for Scout’s peace of mind, it was a relatively relaxing experience. He left the barely-dirty water as-is, knowing full well Pyro and Engie would be arriving with an armload of clothes to toss in any moment now. Toweling off and changing into new attire quickly, the runner frowns as he feels something in his the right pocket of his shorts… he draws it out in confusion. A… necklace? 

 

Alright, either someone’s playing a prank or The Count’s being creepy again.    
Scout doesn’t think he’s ever going to look at Medic the same way after this was all over,  much less… you know, moon over him like some lovestruck kid. Maybe it was Seraphina’s residual essence lingering, but whenever he looked at the Doc now, all the runner could see… was The Count. The way he spoke, the movements, the gestures, the haughty expression… they were alien on Medic’s face. 

 

Sighing, and ultimately deciding to deal with it later, he pockets the necklace thing and opens the door. Almost immediately run over by Pyro, as the firebug bounds in with a load of filthy attire to dump in the bath; the firebug snatches up Scout’s discarded clothes and flings them in, before pouring a small fraction of washing powder into the water. 

Initially, they’d all been confused as to why Pyro wanted anything to do with washing clothes, but that was before anyone remembered you could easily make bubbles if you happened to have a tub full of soapy water and a  Rainblower. Still, if it made them happy, who would stop them? 

 

Heavy and Soldier flank the runner as they return to the first level, and as much as he’s enjoying the royal escort treatment… he really isn’t. It’s getting on his nerves more than a bit. 

The small sitting room is still oddly warm and inviting, and the scent of tea seems to permeate the air over everything else; it has an aromatic tang to it that seemed to suggest someone had dug out chamomile or something equally calming. Maybe in an attempt to soothe the frayed and frustrated nerves of everyone on the team… 

 

Demo and Spy had been discussing what they’d learned from the texts, sharing their ideas with the Engineer, who acted as a sounding board for practicality and logic. He’d shot down at least two plans that called for nets and harpoons blessed by various divinities… mostly because he had no idea how they’d obtain such things. 

Sniper was resting nonchalantly by the door, bow slung over a shoulder and his quiver dangling from his belt; for all the world without a care, but each mercenary knew full well the man was watching like a hawk from behind those glasses. Just waiting for one hint of shenanigans to occur…

 

Lunch was passed around, and everyone tried their best to be polite about the clearly dwindling supplies that had lead to such meagre portions of stew. Though at least it tasted good enough for Scout and Medic to finish their bowls for the first time since this had all begun; each had a healthy glow slowly creeping back into their cheeks that sent a sigh of relief rippling through the team.

 

Cups of tea were circulated, keeping the chill at bay from the inside out, as members of RED found comfortable positions to lounge in. With the storm still thundering, and no current supernatural nonsense to deal with… there wasn’t a whole lot else to do. Food might become an issue at some point, but water and firewood were plentiful; not to mention they’d figured out how to clean their clothes and bodies, meaning everyone felt hale and hearty. Rather than cold, filthy and frustrated by their circumstances.

  
  


He wasn’t sure exactly who had yawned first, but it had been somewhere across the room, maybe Sniper. Mercenaries shifted and stretched, trying hard to fight the dragging lethargy that seemed to sneak up on each and will their eyelids shut tight; inaction driving them to settle somewhere soft, maybe rest their eyes a moment.

Scout blinked furiously against the sensation, glancing around as the mercenaries seemed to succumb, one by one, to sleep in an unusually similar manner. His mind fires off warning signals, as the runner looks accusingly at the almost-empty cup of tea in his hand… before it slipped from his nerveless fingers. 

 

A pair of legs seemed to suddenly appear before him… though Scout couldn’t remember laying down? And familiar arms slid under his body, cradling shoulders and knees close to a warm chest that vibrated with an inhuman humming.

_ “Shhh, _ ” they said, as Scout tried to stay awake against the overwhelming pull of whatever had been slipped into the tea. “ _ Rest, my love… you are tired and confused, I forgive you the harsh words. Let me make it all better… _ ”

 

Scout fell into an uneasy sleep, filled with panicked screams and a voice begging him to wake up...

 

~)0(~

 

Clasping the necklace tightly about the throat of his reincarnated beloved, the Count smoothed Seraphina’s new form’s clothing down. He remembered she liked things neat, orderly… or was that him? Suddenly, Jacques couldn’t remember.

 

Ah, no matter. All would be well in but a moment.

 

Fishing the filched pages from under the ancient mattress, he poured over the words and diagrams filling every inch of the paper. Drinking in knowledge he had written in times long before this body had even been conceived… ah, it was a delicious sin to have outsmarted the grim reaper’s scythe!

 

Using a letter opener from the small desk within the room, the Count pressed it deeply to a fingertip, allowing him a means by which to invoke the necessary sigils in blood upon walls and flesh. He ignored how the door quailed under the assault from beyond, for it was heavily barricaded by as many items of furniture as Jacques could quickly move upon entering. 

Painting a circular sigil upon Seraphina’s wrist, he followed it with semi-illegible runes, frantically rushing to finish before her host awoke and stopped his attempts to complete the spell. Though she seemed to be stirring at last, as several of their reincarnations’ comrades had.

 

Their angry words rippled through the walls, as did the thuds of their fists. Each seeking entry into the master bedroom despite the utter impropriety of the idea; and he would see such impudence punished severely… when time permitted. For the moment, however, Jacques du Monmach had one goal in mind and the iron constitution with which to complete it.

 

Which was most likely why seraphina was able to catch him off-guard so easily. She lashed out, throwing a rapid series of strikes at his face, several blows landing, though a few glanced off. The Count was shocked, eyes wide as he tried to recall if his wife had ever learned such fighting techniques in the past…

 

“ _ If you had learned to work with your host, rather than subdue them… your abilities would become greater, rather than less. _ ” Seraphina taunts, cryptically, sliding off the bed and moving menacingly towards the man her husband possessed. Jacques backed away, awestruck and fearful of this new being… he faltered a step, and fell to his knees as she snatched away the pages from his trembling hands.

 

“ _ Seraphina, my countess, my queen… can you not understand that this was all for you? That my love sought to keep you safe throughout eternity, and I by your side to protect you, as the world changed? _ ” he tried to reason, though it came out as a desperate plea for her to understand the magnitude of what he had done. Eyes that were not his filled with tears, seeing no forgiveness in her own… 

 

“ _ You speak only of your selfishness, Jacques. Can you not hear yourself? I, me, mine! The words you speak show a clearer understanding of your motives that you will ever admit… so crawl, grovel, beg… but it will not sway me to your side. These bodies have souls in them already, your foolish magics were wrong… and I will not take another life to prolong my own. _ ” A hand dug into the Count’s hair and pulled tightly, cold fire burning down in her gaze. “ _ Can you say the same, Jacques? _ ”

 

The urge to beg her forgiveness twisted into a consuming rage, and he snarled, “ _ You have no choice, Seraphina… the sigils are drawn, they bind me to you, as they do our souls to these forms _ !” 

Taking a moment to drink in the look of utter horror on her countenance, Jacques began to chant a jumbled mess of words that seemed to sear the sigils into their flesh. Somewhere within the body, a faint vice was screaming at the sensation; and from the expression on his beloved’s new face, she heard something similar, too. 

It lasted seconds, or a century… neither could be sure… but when the agony faded, both Count and Countess felt more solid than they had in countless turns of the seasons. One elated at the situation, the other sickened to the pit of her stomach. 

 

The door bursts open before she has a chance to rail at him, to scream the obscenities so clearly waiting on her new tongue… the wardrobe toppling mightily as mercenaries pour inside. Desperately seeking to put an end to this nonsense once and for all. 

 

Loud and raucous, the Count laughs at the uninvited guests. “ _ You are too late, you fools, whatever vacuous personalities occupied these shells before have been subsumed by their rightful owners. Make peace with their loss, and leave here, before I call down a curse upon your heads! _ ”

 

“Like bloody hell you will lad, I’ve seen your sloppy, second-rate bargain-basement spellcasting, and let’s just say I’m not very impressed. You can call all the curses you like, but are you willing to chance them backfiring, now you’re nice and squishy and mortal again, your fancy-pants-ness?” Demo goads, Eyelander to hand and a jovial bloodlust in his eye. “Now how about you come downstairs for a quick chat, while we work out what to do about this mess you’ve made, eh laddie?”

  
  


The Countess jumps in before her husband can speak. “ _ Can you reverse this? My sincerest apologies, I could not stop him from binding me in this form but… _ ” she proffers the torn-out pages of the journal. “ _ I took these from him, do you think the answer may be upon them? _ ”

 

The swordsman takes them, rapidly reading front and back of every crumbling piece of parchment… and laughs uproariously. Going so far as to wheeze, slap his knee and wipe tears of mirth from his eyes before responding. “Aye lassie, that’ll do nicely. And you, you daft fool, you’ve written your own demise… if I’d known it was that simple all along, we’d have been done with this days ago!”

 

He gestures to Heavy to grab the Count before the fool can escape with their Medic’s body as hostage; whilst Spy, looking slightly perturbed but at all times a gentleman, offers the Countess an arm. She takes it in a wholly dainty, and utterly un-Scout-like manner, following the group downstairs willingly; ready, at long last, to end her torment.

 

~)0(~

 

Soldier waved the hastily constructed cross, made of two daggers tied together, predominantly at the Count, his furious gaze peering out from underneath the rim of his helmet and instilling the fear of God, Soldier and Country into the ancient aristocrat. Somehow ordained, by means none of the rest of the team fully comprehended, Jane just so happened to be a recognised holy entity and priest; he was even wearing a bright white, well-starched clerical collar about his throat.

But then, to be fair, so were all the raccoons. 

 

“By the power of Christmas, and the threat of my holy boot meeting your possessed ass… I cast thee out of Medic and straight into Hell, you lily-livered sonovabitch!” Jane yelled, in full holy fury exorcism mode, and enjoying himself immensely. He turned to the Countess, and his tone dropped to something far gentler. “And by the power of this consecrated cross, that is definitely legitimate and not two daggers tied together, you are free to go on to the beyond whenever you feel like it, ma’am…”

 

As the Count writhed, fighting to retain his hard-won form, the Countess smiled serenely.    
“ _ Thank you, I shall take my leave through the power of our Lord… and Soldier. Do apologise to Scout for me, I have endeavoured to be a good guest, but I fear my stay has drained my host somewhat. _ ” She began to shimmer, her form visibly detaching from Scout’s as the sigils healed over. Tears shimmered in Seraphina’s ghostly eyes. 

“ _ I am finally free to see my son again…” _ she whispered, voice and form fading away like morning dew under the sun’s rays. A startlingly touching moment for all who were present.

  
  


The Count stopped fighting, perhaps shocked or betrayed, as the Countess gave up her earthly tethers so willingly. It seemed now the truth of the matter had penetrated whatever corner of his mind remained, and Jacques realised that this had all been for naught…

With a long, shuddering sigh, he turned weary eyes to Soldier. “ _ Go ahead, finish the job… there is nothing here for me anymore. _ ” 

 

“Er, right. By the power of the Lord, and my fists, I cast thee out and into perdition, where you can be judged. Go directly to jail, and do not collect two hundred dollars as you pass GO…” Soldier frowns at the bible he held, and visibly shook out the instructions for monopoly. “So that’s where that went!”

 

The Count rolled Medic’s eyes. “ _ Good enough, I suppose… _ ” he muttered, feeling his spirit being pulled from the body by what felt to be thousands of invisible hands. “Farewell… I will see you all in Hell.”

 

And with that anticlimactic statement, he fizzled out of existence.    
In the somewhat awkward silence that followed, the mercenaries could hear the storm begin to subside from cyclonic conditions to little more than a drizzle. They looked to one another, wondering what to do now the threat was gone; then decided as a group to carefully untie Medic from the only kitchen chair not currently being used as firewood, and settle him on the couch. Scout, as Seraphina had been more than willing to leave, was nestled in an armchair already… and merely needed readjusting so he would not awaken with a crick in his neck.

 

All in all, a good day’s work. 

 

Someone passes around bottles of beer dug up from the back of Engie’s truck, as no one was in the mood for tea anymore. Not after the little stunt the Count had pulled. They relax, chat, and gradually let the fire die down as warmth seems to return to the place…

 

~)0(~

 

“You sure, laddie?” Demoman asks one last time, just to be absolutely certain this was the right decision. His hand hovered over the detonator.

 

“It’s what she would have wanted.” Scout replied, watching with an almost indescribable joy as the castle exploded in a spectacular show of fire and stone. Clattering to earth once more in a loud series of thumps, and a halo of dust. “Hope she saw that from wherever she went… it’d make her smile.”

  
  


“Oh, did you two talk a lot while she was sharing your brain?” Demo asks, turning away from the castle gates and walking back to where the vehicles were parked, a safe distance from any potential debris projectiles. Scout kept pace, glancing back every few steps as the place crumbled. 

 

“Sort of. She was a voice in my head, but it was more like, I saw a lot of her life, and she saw some of mine… dunno how any of it worked. It was more than talking, but not like, telepathy or anything.” Scout shrugs, pausing as Demo opens a door and thumps the seat invitingly. The runner automatically slides in, winding down the window as he shut the door and clicked the seatbelt into place. “Seraphina wasn’t bad, just had an ass of a husband who went crazy with dark magic bullshit. Could happen to anyone.”

 

“I’ll take your word for it.” Demo smiles, banging twice on the roof of the vehicle and walking away as Scout whirls around in confusion. Oh no, that sneaky Scottish son of a bitch!

Engie’s truck passes by swiftly, then Sniper’s van, with Demo waving out a window at the runner; who may, or may not, be plotting the man’s murder. 

 

“Scout? What are you doing in my ambulance? I thought Heavy was to ride with me until the first stop after the bridge?” Medic said, as he swung open the driver’s side door to hop in, and found the very person he’d been avoiding for the last forty-eight hours solid; a feat not easy to attain when you were both occupying the same small room and facilities, perpetually.

 

“I think the others want us to kiss and make up or something, ‘cause Demo tricked me in here, but they were already in the other vehicles before you got here. Bastards.” Scout sighed, feeling more tired than awkward now that it finally came down to it. “How you been, Doc? I know you had it worse than me…”

 

“Oh, uh, fine I suppose.” Medic responds, clicking the seatbelt into place and starting the engine, fingers constantly moving and ascertaining everything was functioning correctly even as he looked to the runner curiously. “And you? I hear that you and Seraphina merged on several occasions, has that left you any residual effects that are causing distress?” 

 

“Nah, she was actually really good about it. I mean, there’s some stuff I wish she hadn’t helped out with, like the time she took us to the bathroom ‘cause I was too tired… had to listen to her complain about how hard it was to aim for ages after. I mean, it was a bit funny, but I was tired… and my French is a bit better, I suppose… that was mainly her memories though.” he shrugs, relaxing more and more with every word. “It was weird, but it wasn’t all bad…”

 

“Oh? And what would you call it when the ghost possessing me kissed you, hmmm?” Medic teases, steering carefully down the still-slick road, following the furrows left by the other vehicles as they headed towards the bridge. “Or how about when the Count drugged everyone and kidnapped you? Was that memorable too?”

 

Scout heard the anger in Medic’s voice, directed at no one besides the physician himself for failing to stop the Count from taking such complete control. Feeling apang of compassion, and the stirrings of something that he’d been quashing since way before this whole nonsense began… Scout puts a hand on top of Medic’s. 

“Hey, it’s alright, Doc, no one blames you for any of it. Couldn’t exactly take a practice exam to prepare for possession now, could you?” he jokes, smiling broadly. Heart gladdened to see Medic smile back, even just a little.

 

“Oh, and Doc?” Scout adds, tone sly and yet far too sweetly innocent for anyone to drop their guard.

 

“Yes, Scout?” the Doctor replies, eyes focused on the road ahead, and not taking in the strange tone his travelling companion had adopted.

 

The runner unbuckled his seatbelt, leaned over and pressed a kiss to Medic’s cheek in a single fluid motion; hastily sitting down again as the physician jerked the steering wheel in shock. Scout grinned at the man, as he carefully clicked his seatbelt back in. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t mind if you felt the sudden urge to kiss me again…” 

 

There’s a long pause, before Medic smiles again. “I think that could be arranged…”

 

* * *

 


End file.
